


Broken

by livink



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Relationships, Depression, F/M, Gen, M/M, Not Infinity War and Endgame compliant, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Unreliable Narrator, but tony relearns to love steve and love the team, i fell in love with steve rogers writing from tony perspective in here welp, therapies and shit, this starts with a lot of steve bashing bcause this is tony centric, we no hate anybody club in here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-01-26 03:01:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 68,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21367084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livink/pseuds/livink
Summary: “I love you so much,” Steve says, thick and congested as he sniffles.“I know,” he tells him. “I love you too.”(chapter 1-4: tony's pov ll chapter 5-?: steve's pov)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes & Tony Stark, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, Natasha Romanov & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 50
Kudos: 193





	1. Healing

Tony’s broken.

Somewhere between Howard’s fist and Maria’s ignorance, he’d heard his heart crack for the first time and subsequent second that ever since then he’d stopped counting the number of fracture lines running down there.

Sometime between the age of fourteen and an assault he felt a chunk drop out, separated from its whole and he remembers still. The way it had ached that night as he’d curled into himself and vowed to stop paying attention to said frail organ.

In the brutal heat of Afghanistan, when he woke up with a machine in his chest, he laughed.

Kind of fitting isn’t it. When the physicality mimics the metaphorical reality. A pacemaker. Because his heart _is _broken.

On good days, Tony can hear the muted clanging and banging of the separated chunks of his heart in its cage, missing pivotal pieces that are supposed to glue them all together into something singular and whole.

On bad days, they _wail_.

He tries to play deaf then; obnoxious music blasting on stereo, sledgehammer rhythmically brought down on spare metals, whiskey, scotch and cocaine overloaded system.

Keyword: _try. _Because nothing, _nothing_, can mute when the broken starts to scream. Nothing. At all.

The thing is, Pepper once said, _“You love too much, too hard and all at once, Tony.” _

But Tony had never known how to love otherwise.

Isn’t love _supposed_ to be that way?

Aren’t you supposed to make the one you love happy? Do _everything_ to make them happy? Give_ everything_ to keep them happy?

Even if it strips you off of your own dignity, your rich and your own every fucking thing?

_“Isn’t that the way to love?”_ He had asked Pepper then.

She didn’t have an answer for him then and the way she still looks at him - when she thinks he’s too distracted to pay her any attention - tells him she doesn’t have one even today.

Naturally, Tony thinks, it’s best if he stops loving.

For a man with an incredibly high IQ reading, he can be embarrassingly stupid.

He forgets.

Foolishly, he forgets to take into account that the heart wants what it wants and when it does, there is no way for anyone to dictate that choice. Even the great Tony Stark himself isn’t an exception.

And boy, does his heart wants - _stubbornly_ and longingly, it wants Steve Rogers.

Rogers with a heart so big and shiny and good to a point of it being faulty.

Rogers who is unbelievably beautiful - inside and out - that Tony’s poor shattered and twisted heart sang for him.

Rogers who’s good to everyone and everything but for Tony.

Rogers who didn’t even blink an eye before smashing the remaining pieces of Tony’s heart with his Vibranium shield.

Hefted it, planted it and gave it one harsh_ shove _with all of his super soldier strength, that the pitiful remains of Tony’s pathetic heart crumbled and _bled _void into his veins until Tony became _nothing_ but an empty shell.

So empty that when he sees Pepper, _she_ cries because he_ cannot_.

And when he sees her eyes; red rimmed and sad, he remembers what she had said once. About the way he loved: _too much, too hard and all at once,_ and he has no one to blame for the damage but himself.

Whether Steve deserves it or not, is not of importance because Tony’s beyond regretting his choices in life after seventeen.

The real question is, if _Tony_ deserves it or not.

Most days, when he’s on his back staring at the blue glow on the ceiling of his bedroom, he believes he’s warranted all the hurt he’d been through.

Including his parents’ abandonment, the assault, Afghanistan and now, the void in his chest.

It’s only fair for all those years he’d ignorantly played the part of Merchant of Death, robbing people of love and the world of its peace.

But what terrifies him the most is the realisation that after everything he’d lost, he may have still not paid the full price yet. That there still maybe some more debt written under his name.

And that terrifies him to death.

So much so that he decides to fuck it_ all_ and embrace the spiral down.

_Booze, drugs, girls and lads._

Self-destructiveness easily reclaims its residence in the now empty vault of his chest and sings him to hell.

Rhodey looks at him like he’s sixteen and disappointing and Tony doesn’t mind, because he_ feels_ as if he’s sixteen and a disappointment.

Wearing riches on his skin and pretty faces in each arm. Every. Other. Night. Days stretching into a long and winding blankness - thank you drugs, thank you alcohol - just like the space behind his brittle ribs.

“You’re forty fucking six, Tony!” Rhodey yells at him one afternoon.

After he’d recovered from the shock of finding Tony, passed out on a puddle of his own vomit, floor littered with shards of glasses and broken furniture; aftermath of yet another outrageously reckless night of partying with all the pretties in Cali.

“Act like one.”

Tony thinks, memories drawing blank, head aching and palm sticky from half dried streak of blood that may or may not be his. _He doesn’t know._

His back aches, all the way from his rear that sears in blinding hot pain when he tries to move – that maybe from sex, most likely non-consensual – but, who the fuck cares. Right?

Tony thinks, _I’m tired. I don’t want to live anymore and I’m searching for death. _

_Waiting for the day when I don’t have to open my eyes and face another day because all I want is to die. _

_I want to **die** and all I can think about is dying and god forbid, honey bear, I hope when I do, there is no after world for me. _

_I just want to stay dead. Blank. **Empty**. Like this thing inside me, but without the pain._

Tony _says_, “Relax, Rhodey. I can take care of myself.”

Rhodey looks at him in a particularly disappointed way that day.

His dark eyes glowering mad as he punches his fists into his pants’ pocket and strides out of Tony’s mansion.

It’s Pepper he’s wakes up to, two nights later (or so he thinks), surrounded by sterile white walls and antiseptic smell.

“Billionaire Tony Stark found overdosed in his California mansion. Stark Industries stock is predicted to take the biggest dip of the decade.” She reads the headline of New York Times with a deceitfully serene expression on her face.

Tony turns away, unable to look at her with the amount of damage he’d inevitably caused her in his selfish attempt to seek death.

She never visits him after that.

He never saw the way she struggled to keep her tears from spilling before she left that one time.

Happy drives him to the tower; “Miss Potts order, boss,” and Tony’s too gone to even fucking care.

Pepper’s painfully optimistic.

Tony is too. It’s part of being a futurist and what not.

But he’s specifically pessimistic when it comes to himself. Unlike Pepper.

She puts him on R&D duty. Calls Nick Fury on him.

She makes Rhodey visit him.

All of which breezes past Tony’s apathy as he sprawls over whichever piece of furniture he’s made to and stares emptily at a distance while whomever Pepper has recruited in her mission to make Tony better rambles on and on about something he really doesn’t give a fuck about.

It nearly snaps Rhodey’s final string. 

_“You know I love you, Tony. But it hurts to see you like this. I hate this, man. I can’t do this anymore.”_

_Nearly_, because Pepper arrives that night. Takes one look at him and sighs, “He’ll be fine after some time.”

Tony tolerates her and her attempts.

He doesn’t really appreciate them. Doesn’t say sorry because, _why?_ Why should he, when he no longer cares?

What’s the point?

Pepper can exit his life and it wouldn’t even matter.

That’s how bad it is. That’s how low he’d landed and frankly, he doesn’t even care or want to get up from there. Because, once again. _What_ is the fucking point?

And then one day, he walks into the kitchen and finds Steve Rogers in there.

Tony takes a sharp turn and bangs the bedroom door behind him, sweat squeezing out of his pores as something seizes his ribs and squeezes around them tight until he cannot breathe.

He passes out. 

When he comes to, he doesn’t know how long he’s been down but one thing for sure is, he doesn’t want to get out the safety of his bedroom at all.

Pepper’s stricken voice is a relief when it comes after the sun goes down.

“Tony, _please._ Let me in.”

He does.

“Did he do something?” She asks, guilt swirling in the deep whirlpool of her bright eyes and Tony’s exhale leaves in a loud whoosh.

The feel of betrayal clouds him over like the cold of Siberia, racking his brittle bones and twisting his tongue speechless as he takes a step away from her. And another.

And another.

Realisation dawns upon Pepper, the same moment Tony bends over and heaves, dry and burning.

“Tony, I only wanted to help.”

She covers her mouth with a hand. Another trembling as she reaches for Tony’s back.

“I’m so sorry.” She cries but Tony flinches still, jerking away from her; pain twisting like a sharp knife into the gaping old wound which had never really healed since summer 2016.

She leaves when she finally accepts that he’s_ never_ going to trust her the same way again.

It hurts.

For both her and him. But sometimes, in the norm of helping one from themself, killing one’s old self is inevitable for a new, refined version to rise from its ashes.

And Pepper Potts has just stabbed Tony dead, in the expense of her own innocence.

The rising from ashes however, has to be all Tony’s doing and so far, he’s not faring well.

At least, the absence of Pepper’s coddling takes away his self-pity. He’s not sad anymore. He’s _furious_.

He takes a wrench, shatters all the glasses in his workshop.

He dismantles Dum-E in a blinding rage and he bleeds from his right palm as he stares in horror at what has become of him.

In the process, he rediscovers self-harm. Only now, it has a whole other meaning to it and it balms his frail mind each time he swipes a line of red down his inner thigh with a razor.

He showers in crimson for a fortnight before he exhausts himself of that effort too and fails to move from bed for the next one week or so.

His phone used to constantly ring. If it’s silent it’s only because he hasn’t charged the thing since he’d been discharged from the hospital and god, fucking dammit, how _did_ he end up in such staggering pile of mess.

One day, Pepper decides to forgive him and return and he tells her, “Help me, _please_.”

Happy drives him somewhere, his stuffs packed into a luggage and stored in the boot of the car while Pepper holds his head on her lap in the backseat.

She talks to him. Tells him something about _therapy, up state, however long you need_ and he’s pretty sure it’s more detailed than that but Tony’s too exhausted to pay her any attention.

He doesn’t remember most of it but when he does, he’s been in a recovery home (milder version of psychiatric hospital) with five other well-to-do people like him, a receptionist who shares the mansion along with two doctors and two nurses, and it has been a month in there.

He also remembers staring, a lot, into empty spaces.

Even when Pepper visits, even as the doctors try their best to get a word out of him; silent, is all he is.

It’s not that Tony doesn’t want to speak but he_ forgets_ how to speak.

Silence has muted him so down that he couldn’t be bothered to find his voice again.

Besides, it’s not like it’s so hard after all. Communicating without words is damn fucking easy especially when you have nothing to say.

And believe it or not, in the two months of Tony’s stay, he had no shit to say.

Belatedly, he learns that Pepper and Rhodey have been having their own separate appointments with the psychiatrist in charge of Tony as well.

How he learns it is when the doctor, painfully young looking for her age, drops a name on his tenth session.

He reacts so violently that he_ accidentally_ breaks her paper weight on his way out of her office.

The second time, he spares her the property damage.

The third time, he doesn’t even go for his session. He packs his bags that night and he stares and _stares_ at them.

It’s so weird to feel the_ fight_ return, when he hasn’t even been aware it had left him in the first place.

On the fourth, she brings up the name and they sit in weighted silence for the next remaining hour of Tony’s session.

_Progress,_ she says. “At least this time, you didn’t walk out.”

Tony tries to convince Pepper to check him out before his fifth session. He fails.

He couldn’t even get those words out of him. So, when he arrives, he’s in a real foul mood as he waits and waits for the name to pop up.

But the hour ends and the name never comes up even once and Tony retires to his room, utterly bewildered by the turn of the event that he forgets he had said “Thank you” to her before he left.

He starts talking after that.

One word here and another, there. There are still days when he doesn’t; when his brain draws blank and everything whites out and overlaps into a stream of nothing.

He usually doesn’t recall anything out of those days and it scares him shitless because he’s supposed to have a flawless eidetic memory when he’s not under any substances’ influence.

He calls Pepper after one of those days, voice roughened and nerves stretched to far ends as he holds the old-fashioned land line phone’s receiver to his ear in shaky hands.

He only manages a soft, “Pep -,” before the volcano of emotion erupts and his damn _breaks_, flooding his everything, washing away his pride and identity as he sobs and _sobs_ into the receiver.

He tells her that he wants to go home, but when she arrives, he says he’s fine.

He’ll stay and she doesn’t judge but he does. He wonders when he had become so fickle.

His doctor puts him on meds. After a thorough discussion with Pepper and Rhodey who comes and gives him a hug but still couldn’t smile at him.

He’s on a mood elevator, one tablet every morning.

He hates it.

It makes him yawn all the fucking time. He shakes for a larger portion of the day and he _sleeps_. A fuck ton lot.

“Do you have something else?”

She says, yes. “But I suggest we wait. This particular group takes two weeks before its effects are seen and it’ll be a set back if you decide to change to something else now.”

Then she gives him a few pamphlets on yoga and meditation. Tony would have given them a chance if only he isn’t feeling exhausted all the damned time.

It’s another day and another reminder that “Exercise really helps.” It’s not as if Tony doesn’t work out. He does. By proxy.

As in, he helps around with the chores even though he doesn’t actively jog or bench presses or what other shit.

He knows he’s encouraged to and he _knows_ they work miracles but he still hasn’t found the will to live in him, yet. He _still_ wishes for death.

They talk about everything – _almost_ – once he’d gotten around to using his voice and opinion more freely. She keeps up with him very easily, answering his sass with her own levelled dose of it and the banter is nice on his worst days.

He looks forward to the session during those times especially.

They discuss about Howard, Maria and Jarvis.

They talk about all the times Tony had been or felt like he’d been assaulted or abused and hurt. He tells her about Afghanistan and New York. He tells her about Pepper and Extremis and watching Maya Hensen shot to death in front of him and she _listens_.

They talk about everything including Iron Man and the Avengers gig except for one single man, and fuck, does it stand out.

Like a big gaping hole, the places where Tony deliberately avoids mentioning him, visibly glares, that even she notices it.

But she eloquently doesn’t comment on it. And Tony is secretly grateful for that.

Later, when they do cross over that bridge, she’ll admit that she was wrong to mention him so early in their sessions.

“But if I didn’t, you would have continued being silent, Tony.”

And Tony will say, “Geez, thanks kiddo.”

But that’s far, far later than now, when Tony still wakes up drenched in sweat, the clang of Vibranium against Arc Reactor ringing in his ears.

He calls Rhodey into his fourth month of therapy.

He says he’s sorry but he doesn’t repeat the mistake of making a promise like he did when he was sixteen.

“I’m getting old, Tony.” Rhodey sighs from the other end. “I’m tired.”

And Tony nods, a lump grating in his throat. Then he realises that Rhodey cannot see him and he says, “Same here, buddy.”

_We’re not sixteen anymore_, Rhodey doesn’t say.

_I can’t listen to you swear you wouldn’t make me see you like that again and then drag me through the same again. _

But Tony hears it nonetheless. They’re brothers and that’s what they do.

Tony understands that the next time this happens, Rhodey will be there just like he always will, but he’s just tired of seeing Tony break his promises so,_ don’t._

Tony talks about 2016.

He carefully deletes the same person from his recollection until he reaches the RAFT and he stutters to a stop.

Fortunately for him, that’s when his hour ends, and when he lays in bed that night, sleep evades him like he’s back to ground zero all over again.

He feels so helpless that he swallows his sobs and reads through the meditation pamphlet.

Once that’s done, he closes his eyes and forces himself to try it since there’s nothing else.

He’d tried various forms of alcohol and sex and drugs and yet, he still finds himself back in ground zero.

Every-fucking-day.

He knows the only way at this point is to talk it out but it’s past midnight and it’s bedtime where he is, so for god’s sake, the meditation better work or he’s going to experience his first sleepless night in the recovery home since his admittance.

“I want to talk about Steve Rogers today.” He says, sitting down in front of his psychiatrist cum therapist the next day.

She doesn’t try to hide the surprise in her eyes. Merely embraces it, recollects herself and gives a nod to proceed.

It’s all over the place.

He fails to follow the timeline, jumping between the first time they’d met and the time they’d spent destroying HYDRA base with the team to Siberia and then the times when he’d accompanied Steve during his sleepless nights in the tower.

He hops from hate to dislike to love to hate in a single sentence.

By the time he finishes, he’s breathless and he’s spent two whole hours in her office without her saying a single word during the timespan at all.

He doesn’t sleep that night either.

She asks him about it the next day, and releases him with a pill to knock him out for a good eight hours.

“You need the rest.”

But not before she sits through him confiding how he feels about the entire thing.

How he believes that he_ deserves_ it.

“No, you don’t.”

“But -,”

“Nope. Nobody deserves an abuse. Come they may in whichever form, no one deserves them. Not even the psychopath with a dead sentence on his head.”

“Are you calling me a psychopath?” He attempts for a joke, but it comes out flat.

She fixes him with a stare. “I’m calling you whatever you are for putting yourself so far down below the psychopaths, that you’ve convinced yourself you deserved to be abused.”

She is right.

He’s knocked out unconscious for solid eight hours that night; no nightmares, no panic attacks, no restlessness.

Tony’s going into his sixth month.

His doctor’s been inserting a comment here and there about how he’s ready to go home if he wants and he feels himself agreeing to that.

Pepper and Happy visits him on the weekend. Sometimes Rhodey, but _always,_ Pepper – and Happy who has to drive her over (Tony wonders, if given the choice, would Happy come at all for him).

He tells Pepper and Rhodey about his progress. They’ve sat through a couple of sessions with him as family as well; lots of tears and lots of hugs happened there.

Pepper admits she’s going for her own sessions these days.

Rhodey is too. “It helps,” is all they say about it, and Tony doesn’t push.

On his final week, they discuss about the possibilities of facing Rogers and how Tony will and should ideally respond.

He opts for silence for the first two sessions, strongly arguing that saying nothing could bring no harm to either until she points out that, “Not if you’re in the middle of a battle.”

Because Tony is_ never_ going to stop Iron Man.

“Ah.” Tony says, and he spends most of his night awake and thinking about it.

“I think polite acknowledgement would suffice.” He tells her confidently the following day.

She nods, less convinced than he was hoping she would be but they stick to that until she tells him, on his second last day, “What if you talk it out with him?”

He bristles. Even after seven months of therapies, he’s unable to register her absurd ideas while she watches him with twinkling amusement.

“You don’t have to,” She tells him carefully. “But, it’s something to think about, yeah?”

Tony doesn’t nod, but he does, think about it.

He thinks about it so much that he’s silent throughout his ride back to the tower. He’s distracted through the dinner and Pepper finally loses her patience and interferes.

He tells her about it.

She tells him to not worry so much.

“It’s not like you have to immediately deal with him,” She says, and whatever she sees in Tony’s eyes makes her add, “I won’t call him again, Tony. I swear.”

Tony believes her.

He fixes Dum-E that night.

Sacrifices his sleep so he can put his first born back whole and apologize for his brash actions.

He empties all the alcohol bottles in the penthouse after sleeping through half of his second day back home.

He hunts down little packets of cocaine in the cupboards and flushes them down the toilet.

When Pepper comes calling him for dinner, he’s refolding the last pile of the clothes he’d ruined in his frantic hunt.

He misses his medicine the next morning, completely forgets about it until he’s tucking himself into bed and his eyes are drooping one second and the next, he’s bolting upright,_ panicking_ about how he may have not recovered at all and it was all only to last as long as he was stowed in a recovery home, coming out of there means jumping head first into the entire hell spiral and _oh god! **Oh, god!**_ Tony doesn’t want to go there, no, no, -

“Tony? Tony!”

“Pepper?”

“Tony! Listen to me. Breathe.” She orders. “1, 2, inhale. 3, 4, exhale.”

Tony follows her.

Moments where he fails, he frantically picks up, spluttering apologies to Pepper down the line.

He still doesn’t know how he called her but she’s there and in that moment it’s all that matters.

“I can’t leave you alone and unsupervised, Tony,” She tells him honestly, the next evening.

“It’s fine if you don’t want to reinstall FRIDAY but I took in the liberty to install a safety protocol for you. The vital sensors still work and _anything_, I’ll be informed. I’m staying downstairs, it’s only fair,” She adds in a softer tone, expecting Tony to argue with her that when Tony nods, agreeing, she actually gawks at him.

“I’m trying not to hate myself so much,” He answers and she hugs him.

Whispering, “Thank you, Tony. Thank you.”

She keys in a reminder in her protocol, so when Tony wakes up, he won’t miss his med again.

-

They say when the phoenix rises from its ashes, the rain pours down. Thunderstorm protests and the whole world threatens to cave in.

But once it’s risen, there will be nothing able to stop it.

The press finds out about Tony’s little ‘vacation’, as they print it. Stark Industries experiences a fall more drastic that it had when NYT printed about Tony’s overdose.

Pepper’s tense all the time.

Tony tries to bring dinner to her office when she cannot visit his penthouse, but most of the times, she’s abroad and he’s alone and boredom has never sit well with him; past, present, future, all accounted for.

He gets back into the workshop with tinkering in mind and comes up with a brand new Starkpad overnight (reinstalling FRIDAY somewhere along those cacophony of thoughts in his brain).

He debates about launching it post-beta with Pepper, sans promo, over the phone.

She concedes, but on one condition. “You have to attend the board meeting this Monday.”

Tony doesn’t want to, but at this point, there is literally nothing he wouldn’t do for Pepper Potts.

So, he goes.

First board meeting since 2016 and his brand-new mindset is still fragile from the hell they’ve been through; it’s only been a month out.

He doesn’t fare well by the end of the day but they’ve reached a collective decision to proceed with Tony’s plan of action to redeem the company and that’s all that matters, right? Beyond the desperate itch to reach for something sharp and stinging down his throat. _Right?_

Except Pepper hugs him and apologizes during their dinner that night and Tony finds it hard to swallow down burning tears.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he breathes into her neck and she pats his head patiently.

“You’re healing, Tony. There’s nothing wrong with it. Today is just harder than yesterday, hm?”

He nods. They finish their dinner gossiping about every one of those spiteful board members. But still, when the time comes for Pepper to leave, she insists to stay.

“I miss cuddling with you,” she argues, and Tony would be lying if he says he doesn’t when he too, does. Awfully so.

The stock spikes back up 24hours within their new product release.

TV shows want to interview Tony, and if they couldn’t get their hand on him (none of them do), they ask for Pepper. They get neither.

Tony, because he doesn’t feel up to tackling_ those_ kinds of monsters just yet and Pepper, because she’s the fucking CEO of Stark Industries and you have to make an appointment a year and half in advance to get to her.

All in all, the corporate part of Tony’s life seems to simmer down. But, once one obstacle down, another one knocks on his front door. Or in this case;

“Fucking hell!”

A flying donut enters the atmosphere threatening earth’s safety while Tony’s stands gobsmacked, his armour collecting dust in the basement of his California mansion.

He berates himself, just as he opens his bedside drawer and reaches for the flip phone.

His hand shakes, and a thumb hovers over the buttons, the only saved number in the phone staring at him mockingly.

He doesn’t want to call Steve Rogers, much less, talk to him or work with him or just, anything at all – with him.

But outside, the Central Park’s trees are unearthed and the echo of screams of hundreds of civilians’ grate at his thought stream and he presses the button before he can strategize his approach plan.

The phone rings and rings and – “Tony?”

Tony stops breathing, one hand fisting by his side – nails digging into his palm – while the other holds onto the phone wanting to snap it into half only if that means he could escape going through this part at all.

In retrospect, he doesn’t know what he says.

It’s all a blur, between listening to the horrifying screams on this side and deadly silence on the other and watching the donut take off, quick and brisk, leaving behind an array of casualties and property damage.

He ends the call before the spaceship takes off.

He boards the jet to California with a brief message to Pepper.

He has work to do. He’s still damaged and fragile but he cannot stand by and watch people die when he knows he can do something about it.

Pepper finds him fitting into his Bleeding Edge armour – his work left long in progress when things took a turn to down a while back.

She looks marginally impressed but she won’t be once she knows he’d drilled a bunch of holes into his bones to enable the fitting, so he spares her that knowledge.

Tony never took his ear off of the news. He knows that the – The _Avengers_ are all back in State.

That the Council is a mess of split views; between pardons and focusing on the recent attack and arresting them for a list of crimes Thunderbolt Ross himself had overseen the draft to.

Tony listened but couldn’t bring himself to care. He focused all of that into perfecting his new armour and now that it’s done and Pepper is here, he’s actually nervous about it all.

“Bruce is upstairs.” Pepper warns into his ears as she kisses his cheek.

Tony’s heart stutters to a stop and has a hard time restarting. Pepper nods at him understandingly but allows him his own time of recovery.

Bruce, when Tony sees, is frantic and panicky.

“Thanos, Tony!” He exclaims, diving into a mile of explanation about some stones and space and Thanos, which Tony frankly finds hard to follow.

“Why are you telling me this?” He asks when Bruce pauses for breath.

“I mean, why not tell the others, why are you here, not with them.” He adds hastily when Bruce looks at him like he’s lost his head.

“Tony. This is Thanos. The world is ending and I heard what Pepper told me about Cap and you but please, Tony. _Focus_. This is Thanos we’re talking about. He’s going to snap half of the universe into extinction.”

Helpless, Tony turns to look at Pepper.

“Bruce came to the tower, Tony. I couldn’t in, good conscience, send him to Ross. He’s my friend.”

And Tony knows all about how Pepper is fierce when it comes to her friends.

“That’s not what I meant -,”

“I know.” She placates him. “I know what you meant. And I’m saying that Rogers and the gang made the mistake to barge into the compound while Rhodey was in the middle of a meeting with the World Council post invasion. Now they’re facing the song for it and when Bruce, smartly came to the tower, I brought him here.”

That’s as far as Pepper will admit to saving the others if only, they’d come to the tower too, and Tony doesn’t begrudge her for that thought.

They each had their own equations with the others. Simply because the equation between Rogers and Tony dwindled, doesn’t mean the rest of them have to suffer as well.

At least, that’s what Tony believes.

“Call Rhodey,” he tells Pepper.

“Explain to him what’s going on before the Council scare them off,” he says to Bruce.

-

A war takes place.

Between the extraterritorial and the small army they’ve hastily gathered in Wakanda.

Personally, Tony thinks their only saving grace is the location.

Wakanda houses ridiculously advanced level of technology. Their nanotech is incredibly advanced that it puts Tony’s latest ones to shame.

It’s Vibranium, and if Tony has to be crass, the selfish hoarding of earth’s strongest metal in the name of righteousness.

It immediately reminds him of a certain someone and Tony may be present, but nothing in him is ready to _face_ that someone.

Time doesn’t wait for no one and it never will.

Thus, Tony keeps his faceplate strictly down, feet not touching the ground, letting Rhodey lead every conversation that boils up.

If the universe decides to show him mercy, it’s in the form of keeping Tony away from Rogers.

It’s so adamant in that that Tony never even is there when the Rogues touch down.

Rogues. It’s what they’re christened for now apparently.

If any one of them looked for him, he doesn’t know. He’s busy talking down a teenager to stay put in his school bus.

When and where Thanos pops up, they don’t know until a muted gold explosion alerts them and Tony makes it in time to see Wanda struggling to keep the Mad Titan from Vision whom she’s blasting her own energy at to destroy the mind stone.

Tony aims maximum Repulsor energy at the giant prune’s head, successfully distracting the alien from Vision and Wanda.

There is a gauntlet all ready, lacking only the one stone on Thanos’ right hand.

He uses that to blast Tony off; widespread purple ray hitting him straight in the chest, he thinks for a blinding second, that this maybe _it_.

Except he lands hard somewhere in the waterfall area and it takes him a few seconds but he manages to pick his aching body off of the ground and bolts up into the air.

Straight back into the clearing where he last saw the purple alien.

What happens next is too quick to comprehend.

He takes a sharp swerve, the dull whoosh past his ear and then, Thanos lays; separated from his right-hand gauntlet on the ground.

A frantic horror dawns across his big purplish eyes as Thor picks up the gauntlet and cries in pain while snapping and–

And they win.

At the expense of Vision – his sweet, summer child, Vision.

It’s JARVIS all over again and Tony just cannot deal with that anymore. He flees.

He stays long enough to know that everything _is_ over. No more attempts at damaging Earth – at least for now, no more.

He stays long enough to touch Rhodey’s arm out of the armour while he still wears his and Rhodey understands; the brother that he is.

He stays long enough to see Rogers look at him, lips parting as if he wants to say something but not long enough to hear what he has to say.

Tony doesn’t want to hear him, anyway.

For the end of the world battle, it isn’t so bad.

Few days after, Rhodey knocks on his door.

“I need your help with rewriting the accords.” He says.

Arms across his chest and he’s incredibly steady on his walking aid. Tony’s proud of him, but he says, “No.”

“Tony.”

“I’m sorry Rhodey. But I don’t want to get tangled up in that mess again. I just – I don’t want.”

They both know what it did to Tony the last time Tony got involved. Why is Rhodey bothering again this time around?

Tony doesn’t ask and Rhodey lets him go. But not before Tony catches the disappointment in Rhodey’s eyes.

Expectation, Tony supposes, is at fault.

Everyone expects something from him. Not always, but not never either.

Even Thanos, the Mad Titan from wherever the fuck he came from, Tony doesn’t even know. Never even heard of him for more than the 72hours time frame he had to prepare for an incoming fight. But the _alien, __he’d_ known Tony.

_“Tony Stark. You’re not the only one cursed with knowledge.” _He had said before blasting Tony off into the waterfall.

How, when, he’d heard of Tony, Tony doesn’t know. But he thinks about it often. Almost every second of the day and that gruff voice hunts him deep into his sleep.

“What do you think about reducing your dose? We can go from 60mg to 30mg and see if we can wean you off completely?” His new psychiatrist asks, smiling kindly at him.

To be honest, Tony misses his old doctor. She was, _something_. But he’s not complaining about the new one either.

This one wears his age and is apparently famous in the world of psychology, according to Pepper.

He lacks the sass and doesn’t engage in banters. He’s way more professional and sticks to points during their session and maybe that’s for the best.

Tony has a lot on his plate now that he’s not cooped up in a recovery home with only therapy and getting better taking the forefront of his mind after all.

“Sure.” He straightens his tie.

They’ve been at it for thirty minutes. He’d shared the story about the battle in Wakanda very briefly; compact and short.

He’d opted to not bring up Rogers with this guy. Maybe he should, who knows, but he doesn’t trust this man enough to open that far yet.

They schedule his next appointment two months from now.

“We’ll see how you feel then and if it’s alright we’ll off the med or if not, we’ll keep you on it.”

Tony nods. “Okay. Thank you.”

“Have a good day, Mr Stark.”

“Yeah, you too.”

Tony does have a good day.

He makes some progress with the armour, fixes up that one persistent error in SI’s BARF technology, has dinner with Pepper and even slips under the covers on a normal bedtime.

But apparently, the rule of good day is that it lasts for exactly 24 hours, because he jolts awake to FRIDAY reading out the time; 0004 and when he tries to go back to sleep, he couldn’t.

But all the tricks advised to continue staying in bed until sleep comes so he lays, staring at the blue glow on the ceiling, finger pads brushing across his sternum, nails clinking minutely with the edge of the arc reactor, thumb grazing along the long hypertrophied scar left by Rogers’ shield across his chest.

According to science, when metal brushes against another metal, given certain speed and force, it develops a frictional force large enough to spark flames.

Tony spent a long time after his surgery to re-implant the arc reactor, wondering if Rogers had known that then. When he’d punched the shield deep enough to graze Tony’s skin and _burn_.

He still thinks about it now.

During times like this, when he’s alone and his mind clatters with nothing because there’s nothing in him anymore. No more chunks or even pieces of his heart to make noises and the silence is too deafening he doesn’t want to live through it for another second.

Ego says, Rogers knew. Reality remains, mundane; there is no way Rogers could have known the depth he’d ripped into Tony’s armour.

He still thinks about it though.

He thinks about death too. He thinks about the booze, drugs and sex.

He thinks about the smell of his own vomit. Thinks about what used to be a broken heart and what still remains; pain and disappointment.

But there’s a certain sort of numbness to it now than the wild raging fire it had been then.

Maybe that’s the progress, maybe it’s not. He doesn’t know. He’s long past caring. He just wants to move on. Even if the silence is unbearably deafening.

-

Tony signs the papers.

The rewritten Accords pardons the Rogue, includes Barnes as a War Veteran and victim; absolves the charges against the Winter Soldier.

After everything, Tony has nothing against that man, but he’s still not over his best friend.

The World Council prints out rules and regulations; nothing too new but even the old ones can be disarming.

His position as Iron Man mandates him to mingle with the others. Team bonding exercises, every weekend with each other, in one enclosed space. Together.

“For only two days.”

“Rhodey.”

“I know. Hey, I hear you and I’m here for you. But I also think it’s time for you to move on, Tones.”

Tony wants to move on. He just didn’t think it means he has to face his demons again.

He tries to bail out, of course. He doesn’t care what they call him for attempting, he tries anyway.

Once burnt, twice shy, they say. The burn across Tony’s chest is still painful to this day, he daren’t try another time so soon.

“I’m sorry, Tony.” Pepper pats his shoulder.

The answer is, no. He can hear it from her apology. Ross has always been a bastard anyway. “Shall I ask for leniency for some of the -,”

“No,” Tony cuts her off with a smile. “It’s fine.”

It’s not. But why care about physical damages when the mental one is more daunting. He almost looks forward to the physical ones. Hope they can drown his ever-silent vault. 

They say, the natural selection is merciless. It eliminates those who are too weak. Too incapable to defend themselves.

Tony is a phoenix risen from ashes. He lived through hurricanes and thunderstorms. He’d kissed bigger asses, he can kiss more if he has to.

_He_ _is _the invincible Iron Man after all.

“How’re you feeling, Mr Stark. Any side effects from the lowered dose?”

Tony shakes his head, no. But he got other problems swirling in his head at the moment. The first weekend with the Avengers is scheduled this week. He tells that to the man.

“You’re afraid.” He states.

“They gave me enough reasons to be.” Tony says, with a smile on his face.

If he had shared the full story, the guy would have known. But he hasn’t and this man is not the vibrant sass master from upstate. He’s lacking vital information about Tony and it’s showing. But he sure does know how to mask it at least.

Tony apologizes as much. Says something along the line of _‘unfortunate misunderstanding that ended tragically and rather traumatically for me’. _

The doctor suggests he doesn’t blind himself too much. “Maybe the other party suffered as much too.”

Tony simply smiles, because he’d thought about it of course. How badly could Steve Rogers’ big, shiny heart could have been damaged compared to Tony’s void.

He’s never been blindsided, never consciously at least. That piece of character reminds him of how Howard had been to him and he grew up diligently avoiding it.

They part on a good note. Tony’s free from the med, with an appointment scheduled two months after. He contemplates talking about Steve Rogers during their next session.

-

Rhodey has his back.

The compound is once again filled with people but what once used to a vibrant atmosphere seems to have been permanently robbed off of it ever since.

Wanda’s mourning.

Barton mostly keeps to himself.

Wilson is as strong as the pillar he has always been but, they’re all dead men walking.

They welcome Tony with a nod each, no words exchanged. _Thank fuck,_ Tony thinks to himself.

Natasha’s bold. She closes the most distance between them. Physically at least.

Tony’s still unsure of how he feels about her so he keeps their metaphorical distance stretched as taught as the day she took off leaving him to deal with a semi paralysed Rhodey all by himself.

Rhodey on the other hand, seems to have forgiven her and every one of them with Military ease. “Comrades.” As he prefers to call them.

Except for Tony, they were all once a_ family_.

Rogers seems to struggle with himself. Especially as he watches Natasha pat Tony’s shoulder and Tony, biting back the urge to cringe, lets her.

Moving on, he reminds himself.

Moving on, he recites to himself, as he nods in Rogers’ direction, eyes never meeting.

Barnes on the other hand, chooses to seek him out.

When their so-called group meeting over dinner has dispersed and most has retired quietly for bed, save for Tony, Rhodey and Rogers.

“Can I speak with you in private.” He asks, skittish like an animal as he hunches over, the hood of his black sweater falling down his brow line.

Tony glances over at Rhodey, then instinctively his gaze seeks out Rogers but shy a foot before they find him, he retraces his focus back to the man before him.

He thinks about saying something along the line of, “Only if you don’t choke me,” but he remembers how his Repulsor beam had ripped the man’s arm off during their last encounter and he realises at that moment, with sudden clarity that Barnes is broken too.

From one broken man to another.

He nods. Says, “Sure.” And he smiles at Rhodey with ease as he leads Barnes to somewhere private, as per his request.

“I’m sorry.” Barnes says, body language so withdrawn that Tony actually pities him.

Feels like for all the efforts he put to extract himself from his wannabe team bonding session, Barnes could use them the most.

The man looks miserable to even _breathe_. It’s pathetic. And the only other pathetic person Tony knows around here, is himself.

“Me too.” He says, tipping his hip up against an abandoned table.

They stand in silence for a long time. Eyes meticulously trained on the ground. Feeling the seconds tick by like nerves in his brain as Tony forces himself to keep still.

His headspace is a burst of many things but the silence swallows all of them. He focuses on that and keeps his eyes trained on Barnes’ clear blue ones.

After sometime, Barnes nods. Tony nods back. And the door closes, leaving him alone and feeling weirdly trapped in one of the many empty rooms of the Avengers’ compound.

Rogers doesn’t approach him. Or maybe he tries to but Tony doesn’t see from where he keeps himself faithfully behind Rhodey.

Pepper opens a bottle of non-alcoholic champagne to celebrate his survival. Rhodey had patted him on the back before he left the compound. Bruce decided to follow him back to the tower to look over Tony’s latest reading on space mechanics.

_“It’s not the same.”_ He’d said when Tony went to extricate him from his lab.

_“It’s never going to be the same.”_ Tony told him.

So many things have changed. Before, and after Thanos.

Cosmic collisions transpiring one after another with no recovery time in between. Region of space-time exhibiting extreme gravity is bound to be birthed.

In their case, Tony’s the black hole. He sucks everything in, but he’s fated to forever stay empty.

_“I wonder.”_ Bruce had said. _“All of my decisions in the spur of moment are made for me by the other guy. I wonder how it feels to live with the decisions you make on your own. Bear the consequences of those bad choices. Just. Scientific curiosity. I forgot how it used to feel before the other guy and I wonder now. But I know, given the choice, I would never be brave enough to accept such thing.”_

_“I’d take the other guy over this.”_ _**Any day.**_ Was what Tony said.

Bruce finds something in the reading from space. It’s how they discover Carol ‘Avenger’ Danvers.

“You named the team after her? Just how exactly smitten were you on her?” Tony laughs at Fury’s poker face.

Bruce snickers in the background, but immediately schools his expression when Fury shoots him a glare.

Curiosity leads Tony to the Rambeau’s abode. There, he finds Monica, daughter of Maria, who was Carol’s best friend.

He also relearns what level of spy game Nick Fury can play when he puts his mind onto it.

“You’re unregistered.”

Monica pours him a glass of sweat tea. “I don’t know if the Accords will protect me or try to protect themselves from me, Mr Stark.”

Monica Rambaeu, like what Tony had learned about Carol, wields unexplainable cosmic power. “It’s either ever evolving or we just don’t have the technology to interpret the data.”

Tony takes a sip. “I know a place with competent tech. This will stay out of the accords. I’ll just need to do some arrangements. _Only -_ _Only_, if you want.”

She wants.

Tony gives a call to Wakanda. Princess Shuri is delighted to help. She also asks for Peter Parker.

“How do you know about Peter?”

“Oh, please Mr Stark. Nothing stays below my radar.” He can feel her roll her eyes across the Pacific.

Bruce is increasingly fidgety, Tony notices one day.

He knows that their friendship or acquittance (whatever Bruce chooses to name it. Tony’s sick of making the first call at everything.) is not based on trust. At least not the kind where you tell each other all about your sad tales and cheers with bottle of beers. No.

Theirs is based on mutual interest in science. But whatever had brought them together never matters when it gives way to something where in the end, they genuinely care for each other.

At least, that’s how Tony feels for Bruce. He doesn’t know if Bruce feels the same. It doesn’t matter (It didn’t matter when Steve didn’t reciprocate either).

Point is, Tony _feels_ it and Tony bears the brunt of it.

He worries about Bruce. He admits that to him a few days later, watching the man mess up another measurement in the test tube and he asks with careful casualty, “Is something bothering you?”

“Everything bothers me, Tony.” Bruce snaps at him.

Tony recoils so fast, he turns away to focus on the holo-screen with rapt attention instead.

He hears the clinking tubes go silent, then a long-winded sigh before Bruce mutters an apology.

He learns after, all about Bruce’s inner battle with Hulk.

How the other guy is insistent on stepping forefront now that he had had a taste of it, albeit in a fairly friendlier environment.

“They celebrated him. Like he was a hero. Which. I mean. He was. He saved them from a monster and stuff but that’s not gonna happen here and it’s hard to convince him that.”

Tony remembers Harlem. Going by the look in Bruce eyes, he’s sure the man is reliving said event as well.

“Is there any way the two of you to reach a compromise?”

Bruce turns his faraway stare to him. Stripped off the buzzing nerves, he’s an exhausted, broken man.

But he’s not broken in the way that Tony is. Or – he’s mildly surprised that he’s even thinking about the guy – the way Barnes is.

People can be broken in so many different ways and whilst Tony knows that he’s drawing blank 24/7, he also knows that Bruce had never came even remotely close to that.

That’s why when Bruce moans, “You think I never tried to after the accident?” Tony rests a hand over his shoulder aware that there’s still hope in there somewhere for Bruce to cling on.

“Try harder.” He repeats what once was said to him by his father’s acquittance (read: Nick Fury).

If that tricked worked on Tony, it _will_, work on Bruce too.

It’s Friday evening and Tony’s telling Pepper how he plans to start the ‘Broken People Club’.

He’d just started basking in the freedom from his antidepressant, after spending two weeks worrying the life of him, watching for any side effects to knock him sideways to Sunday.

There’s also the fact that he’d managed to survive another weekend over at the Avengers’ Compound with no shaken grounds.

Rhodey had kept his spot in front of Tony and Rogers never attempted, not even once, to approach him.

There’s that look that he keeps giving Tony but Tony decidedly shoves that deep down and punctures a hole so it bleeds off somewhere far, far from him.

He doesn’t want to care.

Barnes was… the same. Quiet, withdrawn and nothing. Tony tries not to look in his direction too much.

He fears the urge to fix which he’s been born with will start acting up and he doesn’t want to open someone else’s can of worms when his own had only just, shut close.

Wilson and Natasha tried talking to him over breakfast.

Tony entertained them in the assurance that Rhodey is just by the stove top in case one of them started coming at him.

Barton seems to have submitted and gotten an official approval for his resignation notice from the Council over the weekday.

“He was just playing the waiting game here. Got three kids to feed and Laura’s officially terrified after the stint in Wakanda.” Natasha recited as if they’re all friends and they genuinely care for each other.

Maybe they do.

Maybe it’s just Tony who is the outsider.

He wanted to ask her if she’s trying to see whether he’s planning to take on the same path as Barton by telling him about it. He didn’t in the end.

They weren’t friends after all. Friends don’t stab others in the back and abandon them to patch the wound themselves.

That’s where Natasha Romanov is different from Pepper Potts.

“It’ll be called BroPeC. Which in retrospect sounds vulgar and I’ll think about a better acronym for it, but Pepper. Broken People Club. Can you imagine the sheer number of members who would qualify for that?”

“Sure, Tony.” She butters her roll. “I’m glad you realise now, you’re not the only one.”

What he doesn’t tell her is, within Broken People Club, there will be a subunit; Empty Souls. And he doesn’t think there will be anyone else in there except for him.

_Maybe Barnes_, his traitorous mind supplies.

_Maybe shut up_, Tony tells it, shovelling a forkful of curry into his mouth.

The thing is, sometimes the withdrawal symptoms doesn’t hit head first. It crawls up on you when you’re convinced you’ve finally shaken it off.

One of the symptoms from Cymbalta withdrawal is profuse sweating. Let’s just say that Tony never knew clammy hands until he got to know clammy hands.

It sneaks up on him. Like some kind of surprise attack. During breakfast. When he’s in the middle of laughing with Pepper over dinner. Worse, when he’s the centre of public’s attention.

Reprise worse: when he’s in the middle of a movie on a Saturday night in the Avengers’ compound.

“You alright?” Rhodey asks him in low murmur.

Problem is, they’re mere mortals surrounded by superhumans and a super spy. Among four enhanced, one head turns to them. Three guesses, which stupid is that.

“Fine.” Tony grits out, shoving his dripping fist into his jeans pocket.

He can feel sweat dripping down his neck, droplets forming under his moustache and beard. He can feel a trail or two running down his temple, dammit.

Rogers eyes on him isn’t helping either.

The fabric stretched around his pants pocket from where he clenches his hands start showing wet spot, blooming out to become bigger and bigger by the second.

He wants out but he doesn’t know how to ask without drawing any more attention than there already is on him.

It’s either Natasha’s way of repenting or she really means it when she says, “I’m gonna get more snacks. Mind helping me with it, Tony?”

Regardless, Tony seizes the small mercy.

He escapes outdoor through the kitchen door. Hoping the brisk night air may help him a little with his condition.

Natasha doesn’t come after him. Maybe she _is_ just trying to help.

He hears some hushed conversation in the kitchen. Curiosity makes him lean against the wall, letting his aged ears pick up trail ends of the whispered argument.

It’s Natasha and Rogers. Sounds like she’s stopping him from seeking out Tony and in that moment, he’s briefly grateful to have Natasha on his side.

_Maybe_, he thinks. Maybe she doesn’t hate him as much as she’d once made him think.

Maybe, given time, he’ll find a way to call her a friend again.

He waits until the kitchen door opens – long after the argument ended – and he braises himself to face Rogers, but it’s Rhodey who sticks his head out. “

You okay there, Tones?” He asks, worry lines pinching over his forehead.

“I’m fine,” Tony pushes away from the wall. “Withdrawal from the med. The doc weaned me off.” He adds as those lines get more pinched.

He sits through the rest of the movie. Notices that Wanda has retired early and that there are now three bowls of popcorns, full to the brim.

The sight of them reminds him of movie nights in the tower, eons ago. When Thor and Barton would make a game out of who eats most popcorn of them all.

He realises that he doesn’t miss it. The realisation soothes something sharp and twang within him, and he holds on to that feel, smiling at Wilson who’s the only one here and now, putting some effort to make an indent to the mountain of popcorns balanced precariously on his lap.

Luck and Natasha don’t favour him for so long.

On Sunday morning, he finds himself the third to arrive in the kitchen, first two being Rogers and his buddy Barnes.

Tony’s body physically twists around to leave, but Rogers calls his name, all too eager and Tony’s above chickening out in front of a witness.

He looks at Barnes. Deliberately pulling out the empty chair beside him to sit. He’d just walked in to see and hear Barnes joking around with Rogers.

Tony wonders what his problem is with Tony. That even after that poorly exchanged apology, he seems to withdraw to himself whenever Tony’s in vicinity. Is he scared of Tony? Is he scared of himself around Tony?

It’s a curious thing and Tony’s partly pissed at his two-faced act so he doesn’t feel bad about forcing himself on the man who’s clearly trying to steer away from him.

Not after Barnes boldly asked to speak to Tony in private on Tony’s very first day back as if to prove that he wasn’t afraid to get in an enclosed space with only Tony and himself.

So, what’s the deal, then. What is Barnes playing at?

Tony briefly considers revoking Barnes imaginary invitation to the Broken People Club, but before he dwells into that thought, a plate of pancake is thrusted into his sight.

He jumps.

Chair toppling backwards and hands shaking, he braces himself, left arm spreading numbness from pectoral to fingertips.

Rogers looks at him in shock. The cup of something in one hand frozen mid-air where it seems to be meant for Tony.

Swallowing against the swelling lump in his throat, Tony throws a harried glance at Barnes before bolting out of the area.

Stunned clear blue eyes imprint in his brain as he shuts the door behind him and texts an apology to Rhodey for his hasty departure before taking the elevator down to the garage and out of the compound.

Small mercies; this time Bruce isn’t following him back.

His shirt is soaked through when he reaches the tower. So are his socks and if his pants aren’t jeans, it will be too.

He makes a mental note to bring this problem up during his next appointment. As for now, he can only hope that it miraculously stops soon.

It does stop.

Fortnight before his appointment, it stops, and Tony cannot tell if it really stopped or he just psyched himself out. Either way, it’s a relief.

Especially after Natasha and Rhodey playing tag team to let him out for air two weekends on ends, it’s a tremendous relief.

He buys an intricately painted, dome-shape candle holder for her. He never got to learn what Natasha likes and doesn’t like over the years, but something about the handcrafted souvenir tells him she will appreciate it and Tony owes her as much.

So, he makes the purchase and makes sure it’s _after _Sunday brunch and she has her back turned to him before he leaves the gift on top of the dining table and drives back to the tower.

He doesn’t expect her to text him. She doesn’t have his contact, not by freewill at least.

Besides, he actually hopes that she had only pretended to not notice him placing the gift and that she found it immediately before anyone else noticed so it would remain a secret only between them both. He’d like that, he thinks.

But what he likes isn’t always what he gets.

Later, he’ll learn that it was Barnes who found it first, and that he signalled her where to look, distracting the others and what Tony hoped would be a secret between only Natasha and him became a secret shared with Bucky Barnes as well.

For now, he looks up in surprise as Barnes invades his space. Or not.

At least, since the Council took over the Avengers compound, what _used_ to be Tony’s workspace has now become a communal place too.

With that in mind, he shrugs to Barnes’ quiet, “Do you mind?” He has a book in one hand and a gun in his holster.

Tony soon learns that a small pile of scrap at the end of the workshop is where Barnes sits to clean up his choice of weapon.

Tony carries on. His quickened nerves easing to a flowing ease once he lets back the schematics talk to him.

He’s one elbow deep in the guts of his old armour - which he’d shifted here to work on while he waits in between the scheduled team activities – when he realises with a huff that he’s perhaps a little too far from the plier he’d placed on the table.

He tries to extricate enough of his arm without losing his grip around two snapped ends of a wire, grunting in strained effort, when the plier is extended to him in silence.

“Thanks.” He says, looking up into a pair of curious eyes.

“What do you want to know.” He asks after joining the ends together because Barnes hasn’t moved away since and Tony’s too familiar with curiosity to understand the struggle that comes with it.

And he sees the way Barnes eyes the armour. There’s a mountain of questions in there, for certain.

But for the starter, he asks – or, to be precise, _states_, “This wasn’t the one you were wearing in Wakanda.”

An observation masking his real question. Whether the question is, _“Where’s the one you were wearing then?”_ or _“What is the deal with this one?”_, it’s only in Barnes’ knowledge.

Tony’s no mind-reader, so her confirms his observation instead. “Nope. This wasn’t it,” while waiting patiently for Barnes to start asking actual questions.

“How many are there?”

There you go.

“Made 56, blew up 42 of them. So,” Tony hums around a quick calculation, “Should be 14.”

Barnes visibly struggles to pick his next question. Tony smiles around the plier between his teeth.

“Which one is this?”

“54th.” Tony answers easily.

Barnes asks more questions.

The more Tony answers, the more genuinely interested he starts to be about the mechanics of the armour.

He gets to the part of talking Barnes through what he’s repairing in the damaged armour when Barnes slips in a tid-bit.

“I used to work in a car producing factory. Used to assemble the engines.”

Tony learns more about Barnes previous job that way.His interests in mechanics. Curiosity in engineering and a healthy dose of interest in technology.

They talk about the then and now. Of how time had melted the pot and swirled a fuck ton of other things into it.

“Aliens? Didn’t even question it. Think I lost the capability to be surprised after everything.” Barnes shrugs, wiping the grease around his metal fingers.

Tony watches and admires the engineering of the limb. More so, he feels guilty about ruining the one before this.

“Sorry bout that.” He says. “Not this one but the – you know…,” he trails off, when Barnes turns questioning eyes on him.

“Oh, hey. I tried to rip out your power supply. And I killed your parents. Think I earned it. Sides, didn’t we already apologise?” Barnes tries for a smile.

It’s awkward, and unnatural. Tony feels something churning in his stomach at the sight of it.

“Was that what we apologised for?” Tony smiles back. _Didn’t hear apart from the ‘I’m sorry’ and shit load of silence_.

Barnes’ smile loosens into a breathy laugh. He ducks his head down and Tony longs to see how _that _looks on a dead man’s face.

“Think we apologised for everything in the past.” Barnes says softly. Almost as if he doesn’t believe his own words. As if he’s asking Tony a question. _Didn’t we? Didn’t we apologise for everything?_

Tony considers him and his own reply before he opens his mouth. He knows that he doesn’t have a good track record when it comes to filtering his thoughts; good or bad, but right then, he knows he means it when he nods and says, “Think we did.”

What Tony thought was a one-time, stretched out, deliberately strategized apology from Barnes (maybe because he also realised the first time was off and he had to hear it in thorough words that there’s nothing ugly between Tony and him), turns out to be a, well, not a one-time thing.

This time though, it’s Tony who interrupts him in the middle of something.

In Tony’s defence, he didn’t know someone else is already there when he opens the door to the workshop; seeking some time alone from everyone in his space.

“Jesus!” He exclaims, hand going to his chest.

Barnes turns around from his little corner where he seems to be - are those _knives?_

“Nope. Just me in here.”

The first thing that crosses Tony’s mind is that_, huh, suppose Barnes can play with knives too besides the guns. _

Visibly, he only nods in acknowledgment, hesitating awhile at the doorstep when Barnes turns back to focus on his task. Tony really wants to work the kinks out and he really, _really,_ doesn’t want a company at the moment.

But.

The workshop is now a communal place and he’s stuck here under mandatory requirements also, while companies are not something he wants now, Barnes in the corner, minding his own business feels like he’s not going to bother Tony anytime soon. Therefore, Tony begrudgingly decides to give it a chance.

By the time FRIDAY beeps him on the phone to signal dinnertime, he realises that he’d just worked through an entire hour and a half uninterrupted while Barnes - yep, still there – kept to himself in his own corner.

Seemingly, he was trying to have his own quiet time too by the lack of curious questions this time around.

Tony only falters once before calling for Barnes to notify the time, and they both make it to dinner together, which must have been a sight to behold – Bucky Barnes and Tony Stark, walking side by side, two times in a row – because Rogers looks thunderstruck.

But Rhodey only raises an eyebrow while Natasha smiles a tiny smile and Tony (and Barnes too, by the look of it) couldn’t really give a fuck so, they each pull a chair (which also ends up being next to each other) and sit through dinner in easy silence.

Perhaps that is the sort of thing that acts as a precursor to a friendship.

Either way, by the time Tony goes for his next appointment, he finds himself talking about Natasha with a relative calmness within him. And when he mentions Barnes, he feels the same thing too, but a smile makes through the end of it.

The next time, and the _next _time, he visits the compound, it inevitably becomes a thing.

Barnes talks to him now and Tony does too. And not just in the workshop, but in other places as well.

Barnes no longer shrinks like a mimosa plant when Tony’s around. Also, apparently the guy can sass and hold a banter like anything, which is a wonderful discovery because things like that, is a step up in Tony’s book (the kind of step up where once you go there, you don’t go back).

Maybe this one will last. Maybe this one will burn too, and when it does, it will hurt as much as it did when Bruce went AWOL after Ultron.

The scary thing is, Tony can easily see that it has the potential to hurt _more._

But not as much as it did with Rogers.

Maybe that should be the saving grace of his tragic fate. _No hurt is bad enough when you no longer have a heart._

Good. Tony doesn’t think he can live through another heartbreak like that.

Peculiar as it is, with his bull-headedness and rash mindset, Rogers manages to keep away from Tony for one whole month.

Of course, team bonding involves meetings, games, movies and mostly sparring. But Tony would be in the suit then and Rogers doesn’t single him out, keeping his professionalism which Tony is convinced, something unfeasible.

But that’s the thing with Rogers.

That’s the whole problem with him. Even after everything, he still manages to surprise Tony.

Apparently, all he gets is one month.

Either Rogers had this planned out, the tactical genius he is, or he lost his patience. Both are possible. Neither, though, helps Tony when Rogers corners him just outside the workshop post Saturday dinner.

This time, Tony doesn’t even think about turning tail. Instead, he looks Rogers in the eyes and nods.

Then he waits.

It’s a permission to proceed. Despite being vulnerably alone without Rhodey’s shadow looming over him (he stopped needing that all the time after the first four weekends), Tony’s not afraid to finally face his biggest demon. More progress, he supposes.

Either way, what’s distracting is how he categorizes Rogers as his demon now.

He doesn’t know if he should be sad or Roger should. Not that he thinks Rogers will care, or maybe he will. He is the beacon of good, after all. Even after he beat Tony to death, Rogers will always be an angel to everyone else.

Hence, demon.

“Can I talk to you?” The man asks. He’s less composed than how Tony feels. It feels nice to have an upper hand in one form or another.

Tony puts a hand out, palm side up. A gesture to signal their current situation; _aren’t we talking?_

Rogers’ jaw clenches. Defined angle with soft lining of facial muscle. Tony remembers thinking about them a lot. A long, long time ago.

He also remembers feeling them under his fingertips, tracing each one of them. Memorising.

“Somewhere more private?”

There’s nothing wrong with the privacy outside the workshop door. But if Barnes and Wanda got to talk to him in the luxury of a closed room, Tony supposes Rogers does too. Equality and all.

Tony’s not a fan of bigotry. Never been, never will be. Not ever Rogers can tip him to that side.

Demon.

Fitting, isn’t it? Demons do what they do; they bring out the worst in you.

Rogers has always had the power to bring out the worst in Tony. In that way, Tony realises that he may be Rogers demon; if Rogers ever deemed him that important to mark his century old life at least.

Maybe it’s Red Skull, or Nazi, or Hitler.

Maybe Tony falls in long line of all the other Rogers’ villain. After all, Tony had the power to bring out the worst in Rogers too.

Although. Although, Rogers _did_ use to bring out the best in him.

But if Tony starts thinking about that, then everything will become even more confusing.

A tangled-up mess where you can’t even find where the beginning or the end is, and Tony doesn’t know if he’s ready to deal with that magnitude of ‘moving-on’ yet.

Rogers finds a room and Tony notes with hilarity that it’s the same room in which he had had talks with Barnes and Wanda, in that order.

Maybe this should be the Avengers’ reconciliation room. Well, that would have to wait and see how the talk with Rogers’ goes first and Tony has to admit, he’s a little apprehensive at that.

Maybe it’s the enclosed space and Rogers in it, with no one else but Tony, himself.

It makes his skin itch and his blood whoosh up to his brain and everywhere else. He realises his fingers have started shaking and he clenches them all into fists and thrusts them into his pants’ pocket.

Rogers at least, has the tact to put a good level of distance between them. Or maybe it’s just Tony skittishly sidling up to where the exit door is, while Rogers stands in the middle of the room, commanding all attention to him even with his head down and hands clasped in front.

_He’s a beacon of hope and good_.

_He’s the living legend who actually lives up to the legend._

**Captain America.**

But in that moment, Tony realises, that he’s only Steve Rogers.

That little boy from Brooklyn who always stands up when he falls.

Who gave his life to protect his country but was waken up seven decades into the future instead; lost and grieving with nobody who’d once known him.

No friends, no hope left in him, but only a pencil and a book and it’s Saturday when he finds him on the dining table.

It’s 2013 with the night lights on and the full moon out. Tony crawled out of his workshop because he needed coffee but he found solace in bonding with Steve Rogers instead.

It’s 2014, July 4th and a private party for Steve Rogers on Avengers’ tower’s rooftop.

It’s 2014, July 30th, a hospital bed and a bouquet of flowers. _“Just because I got admitted, doesn’t mean you have to be too.”_

2014, Autumn, burgers at two am, donuts and New York on a slice. Grease and soot from whichever missions they just got done with hanging on their suit and skin as they bond over the taste of future.

2014, Christmas, hot chocolate, vanilla ice cream, heat cranked up high in the workshop, fleece blanket strewn over couch as Steve sketched what he pleased. Scent of old book mingled with metal, pain smeared over wrench; belongings blending in, there may have been long lingering looks between chattering.

2015, February 14th, an empty seat in front of him. Emptier champagne bottle. Steve with his arm around Tony as they watched Titanic because _it’s Valentine_, _it’s only apt_. “I’m sorry about Pepper,” murmured atop of Tony’s head.

2015, Spring, cherries and cakes. A little getaway to Hawaii on a whim. Pina Colada and beach with sun kissed skin. “Why don’t you try dating. Sure it existed in the 40s.”; “There’s someone.” ; “Sneaky, Capsicle. Who’s the lucky gal.”; “Who said anything about a gal.”

2015 July 4th, “Steve.”

2015 July 4th, “I’m not sorry about Pepper. I cannot even pretend to be. It’s you. I want to date you.”

2015 July 4th, “Steve, please.”

2015 July 4th, “Tony. I want you.”

2015 July 4th, “Steve -,”

2015 July 4th, “You asked me what my wish is. It’s you. I want you.”

2015 July 4th, “Dammit, Rogers.”

2015 July 4th, “Please. Stay.”

2015 July 15th, The smell of coffee, lemon scented shower gel. Steve’s skin was velvety on his tongue. His mouth tastes like mint in the morning. Tony liked him too, apparently.

2015 August 10th , JARVIS’ console burned into ashes. Tony’s heart shattered like the glasses around the lab he used to share with Bruce. Bruce who was gone, untraceable. There’s a distinct ache in his chest that belonged to neither Bruce not JARVIS.

2015 August 10th , earlier that morning. “You should have told me.”

2015 August 30th , “I’m sorry.”

2015 August 30th, “I know, Tony.”

2015 August 30th, Steve’s hands around his face, his mouth against Tony’s, guilt and regret clouding the heady air they made of the room in Tony’s California mansion. He’s beautiful in the glow of full moonlight. He’s always beautiful anytime, anywhere, everywhere. And he is. _Everywhere_. Inside and out and around Tony. Everything about him felt like an instant ascend to Heaven, chorus singing, violin playing, bells chiming; “I love you.”

2015 August 30th, “I love you.”

The thing is, it’s 2019, July 5th.

It’s past ten in the night, Avengers’ Compound.

The thing is, Tony’s broken. Has always been, but Steve Rogers took everything that was still left in him and ruined them.

And the thing is, Tony had to pick himself up after that, and where was Steve Rogers during then.

Where was Steve Rogers when Tony needed him? _Ached_ for him?

Lost everything – dignity, name, fortune, his own self – everything, _for_ him?

Where was Steve Rogers when Tony _needed _him.

Surely didn’t feel like he loved Tony then.

Didn’t feel like the love Tony felt for him when he said ‘I love you’.

Took three brittle chunks of his pathetic heart wrapped in crimson and he gave the to Steve. _I love you, Steve. I love you._

_Steve._

_Please._

_I love you._

“I’m sorry.” Rogers says.

“I know.” Tony tells him. Because he does. He knows. He is too.

“I’m sorry too.”

He’d spent a long, long time hoping it had been different. That something could be changed between them.

More communication? If only Tony didn’t go to see Ross when he was called? If only Tony didn’t sign the NDA form before Ross opened his mouth?

If only Steve told him –

“I wish -,” Rogers inhales. Shaky, Tony notes dully. “I wish I could change -,”

“I don’t.” Tony cuts him off. Doesn’t want to hear it, no longer_ wishes_ for it.

“Tony.”

And there you go. That tone. That voice. The way he says it makes Tony really hate his own name.

He feels like yelling at him. Screaming that his right to call him like that was lost along with the last crumbs of Tony’s heart.

But they’ve come so far, haven’t they?

They can spar in peace. Have dinner like a team.

They’ve come_ so_ far in one month.

There’s Bruce, Barnes and Natasha.

Tony can’t shy away from admitting they’re friends now_. _

_He_ has come so far, and he’s not going to let Rogers ruin that _too_. Not again. Not after everything.

He’s so fucking tired of picking himself up after he falls. He doesn’t want to fall again.

_Please,_ god. _No_.

“I have to go.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder, signalling at the door behind him.

“Got some work to do.” _SI stuffs. Pepper lined up R&D stuffs for me, _he doesn’t say.

He would have. Three years ago, he would have.

Steve Rogers doesn’t stop him.


	2. Letting Go

The thing with having friends is, they tend to meddle.

Tony had so many experiences with that, primarily starring Pepper Potts and James Rhodes. It’s just odd to see Natasha and Barnes have a go at it.

The worst, is when _T’Challa_ interferes.

It starts like this. They’re into the third month of forced bonding.

Tony still celebrates his survival with something rewarding when he’s back in the tower every Sunday night.

Wanda still retires early from movie nights.

Barnes still wears his hoodie and goes quiet for an extended period of time on some weekends.

Natasha still excuses herself to bathroom or somewhere from time to time (Tony knows she misses Barton like a limb).

Rogers’ patience is worn thin by ever Sunday evening and mostly, he just shuts up. Sometimes, the gym is occupied with only him inside.

Wilson doesn’t show, but then again, he and Rhodey appear like they have a great comradery going on between them.

Bruce is quiet and withdrawn but Tony knows his demons.

They all miss Thor. Especially during thunderstorm, when they all take turn to look outside, it’s visible as much.

But Thor had lost a brother, even if he was adopted, Loki _was_ his brother; he also lost his home. He needs friends. He needs comfort. But he decided that he wasn’t going to get all that in here and Tony cannot really blame him.

If Thor is to call this a home, it’s a very broken one.

All the time Tony spends in here, he feels worse than the time he was in the recovery home. It’s one level more horrible than an asylum.

Even a demigod will break in here.

Which is why when Rogers ends his pep talk calling them a family one afternoon, Tony’s already tight nerves and fragile temper from spending two days in unwanted companies (mostly) fail to hold back his snort.

He doesn’t mean to. It’s an accident.

But he has been so careful around Rogers. Tip-toeing to avoid any misunderstandings, _anything_ that can lead to an argument because he’s tired.

Rogers is tired.

And this, a missed calculation. A mishap. Especially after the progressively strained way in which Rogers and him have been acting around each other after _that_ day, and it gives way to the worst of worse assumptions.

And boy, does Rogers assume.

“What does that supposed to mean?” He asks, arms akimbo, a frown etched in between his perfect eyebrows. The sudden tightness in his voice is jarring.

Tony shrugs. “Isn’t it a bit of an over stretch, to call this a family?” He asks, uncharacteristically bold, after spending two whole months traipsing behind Rhodey’s metaphorical skirt.

He catches the way everyone sits up in their seat. They’re not exactly gearing for a fight like they used to two years ago. They’re simply at attention. Curious, more than anything.

Except for Wanda. Who has been nothing but quiet in every team bonding activity she had sat through. It would have been worrying if it hadn’t become normalcy for her after what happened to Vision. She _is_, mourning.

“Not when I believe in it, it’s not.”

Tony turns his eyes onto the table. Shoulders flexing in another shrug. He should keep quiet, he _should_. But there’s this desperate urge to run his mouth on Rogers and that urge is too big to be shut down with a lid.

“You believe in many things.” He sniffs.

He can hear someone audibly swallow. Wilson, Tony gathers. Still a little too clunky and noisy compared to the rest of them in the room.

“And _you_ don’t believe enough.” Rogers snaps.

“Captain,” Rhodey warns. 

“_No,_” Rogers glances at him before focusing on Tony.

The heat of his gaze is burning on the side of Tony’s face. “I want to know what it is?”

“Steve,” Natasha’s calm voice cuts in.

But Rogers is relentless. Something has snapped within him and he’s not stopping.

Tony gulps. Fear threatening to break through that tiny canister he keeps it locked in.

“What is wrong with you? What do you _want_?” He asks, fierce and desperate.

But his aura is too large to let the desperation show through all that fierceness. Especially when he’s _loud._

“Steve!” This time, it’s Barnes.

A face of him that no one has seen yet. It’s not the soldier, for the soldier is quiet. _Deadly_. Deadly and quiet.

Tony would think that this isn’t Bucky Barnes either but they haven’t seen _all _of Bucky Barnes have they? Not besides the ones where he’d been appropriately funny and withdrawn.

Thus, it is surprising. Not only for Tony but for the rest of them too, who immediately turn to him, except Rogers (expected. Since they’ve known each other since forever and all).

Rogers who keeps going. “What do you want me to do? I apologized. I _am_ sorry. I’m _very_ sorry. I would change if I have the power, I would change it all. But you said no. That you’re _fine_ with it. But you’re not! You’re _not_ fine with it. You’re not fine with -,”

“Steve!” Wilson joins Natasha and Barnes.

“Captain,” Rhodey stands up.

“- me. And I’m not fine, either. I’m not. _We _are not. So, tell me please, for the love of God, because I did something _so_ wrong and I know and I’m so, so sorry and I want to fix it. Tell me what to do. Please. Tony.”

It’s his name on Rogers tongue that does it in the end.

He stands, violently shaky on his feet. And he storms out, refusing to think.

Refusing to let his mind talk. Refusing _everything_.

Behind him, Rogers is still talking.

“Tony, _please –,”_

Fuck.

Rhodey finds him in the workshop, head down in his hands, elbows propped on the worktable while he wills himself to stop shaking.

“Think group therapy will benefit us?” He asks, sidling up next to Tony, sharing the bench instead of settling on one of the many chairs scattered around them.

Tony barks out a dry laugh. “I can’t do this.” He says.

He feels the way Rhodey go quiet when he doesn’t elaborate more than that.

Tony’s still trying to shove down the shake. His bone aches and his teeth do too. He grits them and presses his palms against his closed eyes.

“Tones.” He hears Rhodey call.

He doesn’t wait for him to go on. He doesn’t have the energy in him for that; every one of his cells is still vibrating from those words Rogers – Steve. Fuck.

Now, Tony’s confused.

_Dammit, Steve. _

He can’t stop thinking about it.

Rhodey is smart.

Always has been. Not only is he book smart, but where Tony deliberately abandons the tact, Rhodey picks up after him. It’s how Tony knew that Rhodey’s smart when it comes to social cues too.

And patient. Incredibly so, counting the years he had put up with Tony. From even _before_ Pepper.

They got to know each other when Tony was in his early teens and Rhodey in his late. It wasn’t an instant connection. They didn’t propel each other immediately either.

It was something gradual. Which is why Barnes scares Tony. Because it has been like that with Rhodey, before, during their early days.

Only that, somewhere along the semesters and holidays when everyone went home except for the 15 years old Tony who was supposed to be on the first bus home but stayed at the campus instead, Rhodey learnt the nooks and crannies of Tony Stark’s giant personality.

He saw first-hand how Howard treated him.

How Jarvis picked after his messes and Rhodey, for some mysterious reasons, decided to stay despite all that.

Rhodey is smart. He says, “You get some rest, Tony. I’ll arrange Happy to pick you up, make some excuse with the Council. You take this weekend off. Go home. Think it through.”

But Tony keeps shaking his head from the moment Rhodey starts speaking. “No. No. There’s no need for me here. I’m getting old, and I cannot. I physically and mentally cannot, Rhodey. I’m gonna -,”

“If you say quit now, you’re being extra stupid.”

“No, you don’t get it.” Tony looks up at him, hysteric.

Rhodey lays a hand over his shoulder. “Breathe. I know a hasty decision when I see one. You’re high strung.” He pauses, as if mincing his words.

“We all are. It’s not a sound decision if you make any now. Go home. Rest. I’ll call you later. It’s an order.”

Tony has half the mind to not snort. Rhodey’s right. He also, after all those mishaps and shuffling, ranks the highest; above Tony and – yeah.

Point is, Rhodey is right.

He waits for Happy to arrive. He asks FRIDAY to play the latest news feed and he tries to distract his thoughts with it.

But the recent event keeps replaying in the back of his head, like an old annoying song. But –

But.

There’s a heavy guilt in his chest now. Along with Rogers’ face in the background.

It’s his fault. He – He chewed on Rogers nerves. Uncalled for, never mind how long the issue has been brimming. _He _started it.

If only he had kept quiet, Rogers wouldn’t have lost it.

If only –

If, if,_ if -_

_I would change it all. But you said no._

There are a lot of ifs in their history. So many, bulked up like mount doom, seeking chances to explode in their faces every time.

Tony snorts. It’s not the group that needs therapy, it’s them; Rogers and him.

Rogers and Tony.

_You’re not fine with me. And I’m not fine, either. I’m not. We are not._

_I want to fix it. Tell me what to do._

“FRI.”

_I would change it all._

“ETA in 56 seconds, boss.”

_What is wrong with you?_

Everything. Everything is wrong. “Thank you, FRI.”

_What is wrong with you?_

_What is wrong with you?_

“Boss?”

_What is wrong with you?_

“On my way, darling.”

_What is wrong with you?_

_What is wrong with you?_

_What **is** wrong with you?_

“What is wrong with me?”

“Hm?” Pepper looks up from her soda bottle.

She’s pretty tonight. All dolled up like she’s heading somewhere fancier than have takeout for dinner at Tony’s penthouse.

Tony picks the plumpest orange chicken and drops it into her lo mien carton.

It’s a last-minute call.

He reached the tower before the sun went down with anxious energy and general distrust at his own self, so he clicked some buttons and got Pepper to come over.

She barely asked him any questions; Rhodey must have filled her in with the details. Which is why it’s surprising.

Usually, Pepper would have opinions and that means she would be bursting to say something, but not this time.

Now, she sits quietly, letting Tony gather himself with two sticks, poking and prodding at an array of Chinese takeout FRIDAY had taken the liberty to order for them and some TV show playing in the background.

Which is the other thing. Through the decade Tony had known Pepper, she had never watched a single TV show before.

He’s curious. But that curiosity is a mild layer of something beneath a hunk of hurt from earlier that day.

It’s the same question that keeps running in his head, which is why he asks it out aloud; “What is wrong with me?”

Pepper puts her carton down, grabbing the coffee cup and cradling it to her chest as she folds her long legs under her thighs, making home on the couch. “I need you to be more specific than that.”

“What?” Tony blinks, dropping his chopsticks into the carton as well. Attention focused on the lady.

“What’s the context? What is wrong with you in _what _context?”

“Huh.” Tony didn’t think about that. All he thought was - “Generally?”

Pepper makes a face at him. “Can’t say. It’ll be cancelled out. Human beings, naturally have flaws on top of their - let’s say - advantageous. For example, where you’re a genius, you’re also ignorant sometimes -,”

“Like the time I spent decades profiting war, you mean?”

“I was going to say that time where you tried to buy my forgiveness with a basket of strawberries because you knew I was on a diet and I love fruits but you forgot that I was allergic to strawberries, but, sure.” She smiles at him sickly sweet.

_Never talk over Pepper Potts. That can also count as point_, Tony remembers ruefully.

“What I was trying to say before you rudely talked over me were, pluses and minuses. You have your wrongs where you also have you rights and when provided no contexts, to which I cannot point what exactly, they naturally cancel out. Making you a mundane homo sapiens. Like the rest of us.” She smiles serenely.

Tony snorts, “Geez, Pepper. Thanks.”

“Always, Tony.” She raises the cup at him before bringing it to her mouth.

Tony lets out a laugh. The tension that had been soaking him all day wrung out a little.

“Who said that?” Pepper asks.

Once all the leftovers are refrigerated and the rubbish discarded. They’re both nursing a tub of ice cream.

Pepper still hasn’t given any comments to indicate she already knows what’s going on. It’s pretty unbecoming of her, if Tony is to say anything about it.

He clutches his own bowl closer to his chest, worming his exposed toes beneath the fleece blanket they’re sharing and The Good Place is on.

Apparently, it’s Pepper’s favourite TV show and Tony who hasn’t had a slight idea that Pepper enjoys TV in the first place, has been berating himself for the unacceptable ignorance towards his best friend’s indulgence.

_“I only picked it up last month.”_

_“Doesn’t matter, Pep! I should have known.”_

Feeling slightly vexed at Pepper for his own fault, he grits out the name flatly, as if he doesn’t even care about the whole thing; when it’s all that have been sitting and festering in the forefront of his brain since this morning.

“Hmm.” She hums thoughtfully. Then she announces, like it’s yesterday’s weather; “James told me what happened today.”

And Tony harrumphs. Just like he would, acknowledge yesterday’s weather, that is. 

Pepper grabs the remote and pauses the damned show. Her slim body shifts as she turns to face Tony, her own ice cream bowl going on top of the coffee table as she wraps her arms around her midriff and looks at Tony expectantly.

“Wanna talk about it?”

His first instinct is to brush it off. _Stark men are made of Iron. Don’t be a pussy, Tony **Stark**. _

Howard’s ‘teachings’ are where he had meant them to be; carved into Tony’s bone, reminding him every time he breathes wrongly. _You’re a disappointment. Get a hold of yourself._

It hurts to go against them. It’s physically painful to take a step back when your motor neurons are executing a step forth. It _hurts._

But it is also, _alright_.

It’s alright to hurt sometimes, especially when it comes to these things. That’s what he had learnt in the year he’d been recuperating; trying to find himself against all odds.

Not Tony Stark; the owner of Stark Industries, son of Howard Stark. Not Tony Stark; the Iron Man, an Avenger. No. Not those Tony Stark, but simply, Tony. The mechanic.

The guy who nerds out over space and machines and finds solace in obnoxious music. The guy who has years of his life still ahead of him with nice people – good people – people who genuinely care for him.

Just, Tony. Who is friends with an amazing, resilient lady named Pepper Potts and an ever patient, reliable, man named James Rhodes.

Tony, who has to work so he can be resilient just like them. Amazing, patient and _all him_.

A person.

So, he tells her. He tells her everything.

_Everything. _

From New York to Siberia to this morning in the Avengers’ Compound.

“I knew.” Pepper breathes.

Although her patience had been dwindling along with her emotions, threating to fray and give her off, she somehow, elegantly managed to maintain her bearings. In her own, Pepper Pott’s way.

“Or, I kind of figured that there was something else going on between you and him. Which was why,” She pauses and inhales sharply.

Carefully manicured fingernails playing at the top buttons of her silk cream top. _Tap, tap, tap,_ they go. The only give of her turbulent feelings her body could reveal to someone who had known her for ages; Tony.

“Doesn’t excuse what consequence it brought with it but. It was why I called him in.”

Tony sucks a breath in, the cold bowl in his grasp now slippery with sweat and no longer as cold but he clutches on to mask the tremble that has taken over his fingers upon said memory.

He forgot.

For all those number of times he questioned whether Steve Rogers actually meant when he said he loved him; because where was he? When Tony was down and rolling in hell, _where_ was he?

For all those times he hated Steve Rogers for abandoning to pick himself up all by himself, he forgot that Rogers once_ tried_.

He _forgot_ that Rogers came to him one time.

When he was a slip away from falling off of the cliff which soon that night, Pepper pushed him from, Steve – Rogers, actually _did_ come.

Albeit whatever made him to; Pepper’s pointy heels or the impossible – or maybe not – which was, care, Rogers didn’t leave him entirely, but attempted _at least_ once, as far as Tony knows because Pepper up-ed the security after that – the point is, Steve Rogers _tried._ Before Tony, who pushed him away.

“Oh.” He lets out. Skin tingling up his spine and down his fingertips upon the realisation.

Pepper eyes him cautiously.

“I forgot.” He says, as a mean to answer her curious look. She doesn’t look convinced but she steers away from prodding him about the sudden change.

She says something else, but the noise in his head is extremely loud. A cacophony of what feels like all his convictions clashing with each other at once; panicking, questioning one another, and even _more_ panicking.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep inhale, muting all of them to nothing. Then, when he opens his eyes, it’s like he’s seeing Pepper Potts for the very first time that evening.

She has her magenta lips on.

He recalls the click clack of her stilettos when she came in hours ago.

Her cream blouse is new.

Her matching floral skirt is too.

She’s dressed up, semi casual, for something that does not spell business or a hang out with an old friend.

She’s _dressed up_, Tony realises with a sudden unnerving clarification, for a _date night._

“Fuck.”

Pepper freezes. “What?” Her pale blue eyes are wide and beautiful as they always are.

“Pepper. Be honest. Where were you going when I called you in?”

She takes a while to comprehend, and then the colours rush brilliantly to her cheeks. Blooming rosy pink. It brings the little smatter of freckles on her face alive. Tony knows she hates it, but he had always found it endearing when she blushes.

“Nowhere important.” She brushes it off like it doesn’t matter. But her blue eyes betray her.

“Honesty, Pep.” Tony clucks at her.

He knows what he’s doing. A distraction. He’s digressing from their current topic which focuses on him, and that’s a bad old habit.

Pepper’s glowering at him because she knows what he’s doing, but he eyes her back pleadingly_. Just this once. I want to forget, please._

With an exasperated sigh, she mumbles out a sheepish, barely, but still, audible; “A date.”

“Hah!” Tony gloats. “I knew it! Who’s the lucky person. Do I know them? Is it the guy from R&D? Always knew you have something for sexy minds.”

Pepper huffs and puffs, her fingers reach for his and give a squeeze, but she indulges him amidst it all.

She’s beautiful like that. She sees him desperate for an out and she gives him.

-

He compartmentalizes.

He pushes those bundles of thoughts surrounding Steve Rogers into a steel box, closes it, stores it away with a post-it saying _‘To get back to later’_ and he dives into work.

He finishes up_ all_ R&D’s requests, reads through and signs _all_ the paperwork Pepper has ever sent him, breaks into the World Council’s server and finds out _all _their plans for the Avengers; budgets, etcetera. He does everything except, open that damned box and try to decipher it.

He calls Wakanda. He gets an enthusiastic; “Of course! Come aboard.”

He swoops into Queens, butters up May Parker and takes Peter for a two day ‘study trip’;

“We’re going to Wakanda, Mr Stark?”

“You got problem with that?”

“Wha – No! No, no, no. Of course not! I love that,” The teen blinks, bright eyes slightly misty but no threats are there to spill.

Tony turns back to the console and focuses on flying.

They pick Monica up on the way. But Monica seems to have a guest over.

“Unannounced.” She says, beaming in contrast to that glare she shoots at her company.

“Carol Danvers.” The other woman introduces herself.

Her blonde hair glows bright and she’s fierce beneath her wide welcoming grin.

“Moni told me. You’re Tony Stark. I’ve heard of you from Fury too.” She smirks mischievously, her clever eyes focusing on Peter. “And you, young man?”

“I’m Peter, Miss Danvers. Peter Parker. I’m from Queens.”

“Well, hello Peter. Nice to meet you. I’m from space.”

“Woah, space! That’s so cool! Nice to meet you too, Miss Danvers.”

Tony shakes her hand. Tells Monica about their venture to Wakanda. Asks Carol if she wants to join too, and before the sun sets down, all four of them are on board and half way across the ocean. The Quinjet humming under FRIDAY’s expert conduction.

If he stops and thinks, this will be _wild_.

Only two days ago, he was so scared that he was heading towards another spiral down, but now –

He’s above the clouds with a Captain Marvel ordering a frantic Fury on a borrowed comm to _shut the fuck up_. A teen who’s many dreams he’s fulfilling in less than a 24hours time span and a woman who has been in hidings because she cannot understand who she is but has now decided to bravely step out, putting her trust in Tony and it all is…_ surreal_, to say the least.

This is what he expected he’d be doing when he joined the Avengers. Not wallow in forgotten feuds and try to become a family they will never be even if they all die trying at it.

If Steve Rogers is so desperate for a family, he can shove his 1930s ass into some sitcom and live in there.

He hates him. He does.

He _still_ does. But there’s a part of him that has always malfunctioned when it came to Rogers, the part that decided to join Rogers by the hips, sing his name in chants, worship him, _belong_ to him – that part which had been dormant for the past year, has once again started awaking.

That’s _terrifying_ and Tony can feel the way it licks around its edges, spreading, but he’s helpless.

He knows he’s smarter than this. He knows all about abuse and its vicious cycle but he doesn’t know if it’s abuse when it was him who lifted his hand _first_.

Even if that scar across his chest gives him a verdict against Rogers, he’s not sure if Rogers had escaped unscarred as well. He knows super healing. But he also _knows_ how fragile Steve Rogers’ heart is.

And that’s why he hates Steve Rogers.

These thoughts are the ones that keep him on the run. Feet not stopping; from New York to Wakanda as he puts everyone else’s priority over his.

“Can’t believe Fury’s trying to talk me against crossing a fucking ocean. _Me._ Who travel through spaces and dimension.” Carol bitches, flinging the comm over her shoulder. “Asshat.”

The little corner of Tony’s lips twitch. He has an inkling that Carol and him are going to get along just swell.

Wakanda welcomes them. More importantly, it embraces Monica as its own.

Okoye and Nakia give her the eye of approval while Peter and Shuri argue about the latest Yeezy, surrounded by, and lounging on Vibranium infused techs.

Tony grumbles something about priorities and generations these days while Carol pats him on the shoulder, traipsing after Monica and her two new besties while T’Challa, out of nowhere, corners Tony for himself.

“I must say, I was expecting you sooner, Mr Stark.” He announces, all kingly and regal while he waves off a couple of Dora Milaje who were insistent on following him and Tony to wherever they were heading to.

Okoye hisses a word of disapproval in their language from the other side of the room, but T’Challa merely laughs it off, steering Tony by the elbow when they reach an intersection down the long hallway.

“Never met any expectations so far,” Tony adjusts his shades up as T’Challa pushes open a wide door, nodding at him to go in first.

It’s a surprisingly small room in contrast to its door which looks like it will lead into an amphitheatre of sort. With fairly common looking tables and chairs, the room is nothing eye catching compared to the lab they’ve just exited from. Tony stops at the front desk of the classroom like setting. 

T’Challa gives a short laugh. “The man who exceeds expectations, of course.”

“Or the man who breaks them. Depends from where you’re looking.” Tony clucks his tongue, shrugging.

T’Challa pauses, the arms he’d crossed over his chest loosening as he seems to regroup his thoughts for a while after.

Then he decides primly, “You’re not the man I imagined to meet, Mr Stark.”

It’s probably impolite, what with T’Challa being a king and what not, but Tony cannot bother to suppress the snort that escapes him.

“Like I said, your highness. Breaking expectations are my expertise.” Then because, bitterness is his latest style, he smirks. “Disappointed already?”

T’Challa apparently finds him amusing, because he laughs for the second time in row at something Tony said.

“I’ll reserve my judgement for when after I’m done speaking with you, Mr Stark. Although I must admit, disappointing is not quite the word in my line of vocabulary for you at the moment.” He adds.

Tony straightens up, pulling out a chair. With a prompt, “May I?” He sits himself because ageing makes him exhausted and weary all the damn time.

T’Challa sits on one seat diagonally away from him and if Tony thought they were already talking before, it’s nothing compared to when T’Challa starts; all serious and enthralling.

Pinning Tony’s attention to him throughout his short story telling about the time when Wakanda hosted the ‘Rogues’, giving no slip off for Tony’s short attention span (maybe he learnt the trick from his special school for future Kings, but Tony has no idea how he does it).

In the end, it’s clear why T’Challa wanted to speak with him.

When Tony points it out, the man doesn’t bother denying it. “I do consider the good Captain as my friend.”

“I didn’t think friendship is a valid excuse to interfere in other people’s life.”

T’Challa takes a slow breath in. “Friends and family merely differ in the matter of choices. But the care remains extensively the same. I see a friend suffering, I know the cause of it and I’m taking the next natural step, where-in I try to help them sort it out.”

Tony holds himself stiffly in the cold plastic chair. He has a few choices of words for the King but it’s unfortunately not his territory; _literally_.

Tony, who is under _their_ kind hospitality, in their hidden land of richness, with his life on stakes should he chooses his words carelessly.

Mostly, it’s the exhaustion from his quickly draining manic energy that keeps his mum.

T’Challa pacifies from the lack of Tony’s vocal response. He sighs, fingers reaching for the intricate beads around his left wrist.

“I know I’m imposing, Mr Stark. But I saw you. On the day of the battle, and I witnessed the Captain throughout his stay with us and after the battle ended. One year on the road didn’t change the man from the first time he sought help for his friend from us. I’m seeing you today and the fact that you remain just as broken as the day I saw you all those months ago is why I’m bringing this issue into light, Mr Stark. It’s best if the two of you put your pasts in your past. Instincts tell me that both of you are better being friends than enemy -,”

“I’m sorry for being rude, but excuse me on the likeness that you’re being just as rudely intervening as well, what does my lack of relationship with Steve Rogers has anything to do with the defence of the earth? Because you and I, forgive my frankness _your highness_, do not share the closeness that you may share with Steve Rogers. If you’re friends with him, why don’t you talk with _him_?”

“Because he doesn’t listen to me.” T’Challa hisses, catching his loss of composure and regaining them promptly.

“I have talked to Captain Rogers about this. I have told him what I’m telling you now. He listened, in the early months, he even sought after you. But suddenly, he stopped. He stopped trying and he stopped listening. Since you reminded me of the very nature of our relationship, Mr Stark, I must point out that my views and suggestions do not change; even in the priority of the Earth. _Especially_ in the priority of the Earth. I must insist that you and the Captain work out the rotten nature of your relationship. A team does not thrive from being broken, and you’re expecting us to trust _this_ team with Earth’s safety, Mr Stark?”

Stunned, Tony fidgets with the watch on his own wrist, mimicking T’Challa and his beads.

Hearing the stressed conviction of the King feels like a smarting slap across his cheek, reeling him momentarily speechless. The silence stretches as both men stare at neither of them.

It’s only when Tony gives a curt nod and stilted promise of “I promise we’ll work on this,” that T’Challa moves.

Just a small shift in his seat, but it makes a distinct difference after he’s been tightly maintaining his rigidness on his seat.

The King stands up, but doesn’t make a move to leave. Tony lifts his eyes from the ground, only because he wonders if it’s some weird Wakandan custom where people don’t leave until you look at them. But apparently T’Challa was merely waiting to hold his gaze before he delivers his final blow.

“I hope you don’t take this as an excuse to leave the team, Mr Stark. If there’s anything I’ve learnt from this talk, it’s that you’re incredibly inclined to assume the _worst _of yourself. As for my opinion of you, I maintain that you’re not disappointing Mr Stark. But you are, a broken man. The Captain is too. Anyone with two functioning eyes can see that.”

He adjusts the beads one last time, fingers leaving to curl inside his pockets.

“It is custom for the next person to wield Wakanda’s throne to consume the Heart-Shaped Herb which would strip them off the inherent powers in order for them to reach their ultimate capacity of their power. When I gained mine, I could see the souls residing in people’s heart. I’ve seen many since, but the brightest is the Captains and the darkest is, fittingly, yours, Mr Stark.”

Tony’s tongue feels dry in his mouth, but he still manages a faint, “Fittingly?” while his blood rush through their streams, fleeing.

T’Challa regards him for a long while, as if he’s deciding what to say next. Whatever he decides, gives him the pinched look like he’d tasted something bitter, but the resignation of his decision is concrete in the curve of his shoulders.

“A match, Mr Stark. Your soul and the Captain’s are the perfect match and whichever path you take with this knowledge, I strongly suggest you don’t mess around with what has been sealed with power beyond our abilities to wield. A match when broken, invites the worst calamity, while a match, united, may hold the key to peace.” 

Carol pilots the Quinjet back; _“Damn, I miss this.”_

They leave Monica in the safe hands of Shuri, Okoye and Nakia. They drop Peter off with a note to May Parker. Carol drops him and the jet at the tower.

“I should probably go see Fury.” She says, “He’s been bugging me about an accord of sort. It was nice meeting you, Tony. I hope we get to work together in the future.”

Tony doesn’t tell her that if she signs the damned Accords, they will. But he does tell her, “I hope so too, Miss Danvers.”

Tony gets home, and for the first time since a very long time, he doesn’t call Pepper.

He lays in bed instead. He opens up the steel box he’d shut away, he sees how far it has licked its way around his fragile conscience.

He adds the parts which T’Challa provided and he ponders over them. 

He falls asleep somewhere along the line. But it’s disturbed and unrested. He doesn’t bother getting up from the bed. He doesn’t have a plan of action in his head yet.

He’d spent hours thinking through everything but he cannot decide on anything because he still doesn’t know what he _wants_.

Halfway through a peanut butter sandwich, he realises with the lack of appropriate emotions, that he not only doesn’t know what he wants when it comes to Steve, but he doesn’t know what he wants when it comes to his own life as well.

He’s a futurist.

He has a plan ready for his company and stock. He has a plan when it comes to the Avengers. He has plans for DUM-E, U, Butterfinger and FRIDAY. He has plans for Peter and Monica. Pepper and Rhodey. For the _tower_. For his wealth and all his belongings; where should they go when he’s dead.

He’s a futurist with a plan for _the_ future, except his own future.

It’s a remarkably ironic thing. Tony realises just how he has been tagging on the ride of world saving, expecting he’ll drop dead one day along that line so he has to make it easier for those left behind to handle his unsettled mess.

But he has no dreams. No wish-lists. He has wish-lists for what to get done before the aliens invade the Earth again, but he has no wish-lists for himself. No plans for companionship or family etcetera.

Well, except he _used to_ have one.

Long time ago. But that got toasted into ashes so, perhaps it’s just human nature to learn from mistakes and avoid revisiting the same path again?

If so, then why does he… want?

In a weird, twisted, aching way. In a way where he knows well that the endgame will be annihilation, he wants to give Steve Rogers another chance.

Like a burnt man poking at the fire just so he can remember how it once felt to burn. Tony _wants._

It’s stupid. It’s incredibly stupid. But god, he wants.

With all his broken and emptied vault, the void in him which sucks and sucks and _sucks_ but never fills up, he wants. And that want is so criminally lethal that he’d rather think he _doesn’t know_ what he wants.

But there it is. Resurfacing above a graveyard of all dead dreams and agonies, a want nonetheless.

_Maybe because he’s your demon,_ his brain supplies. _The beginning to your end, your impending doom singing the death’s tune. _

There’s a temptation in there, isn’t it? To tease the death and see if you’ll finally be accepted.

Either way, he drives to the compound. Out of the blue, on a Thursday afternoon. The urge to talk to Rogers – Steve (damn, he has to make up his mind soon) flaring like the heat of mid-summer.

Rhodey’s out. Unfortunately, so is the man he’s looking for.

“Meeting with the Council.” Natasha supplies helpfully.

She’s post sparring; black shirt and legging with her hair pulled neatly into a ballerina bun.

Tony misses her something fierce.

Even as she’s sitting in front of him, his mind pulls up a picture of what used to be a communal floor in the Avengers’ tower; Natasha sipping on cold tea while Tony and Clint harassed her about the secret to her hand-to-hand skill.

She used to never share. Told them it was her trade secret. He wonders if it’s the same still, and the thought of that carves out something hollow inside him.

Natasha Romanov. Born where and to whom, she has no idea. All she knows is that she was brought up a weapon.

But one day, she decided that she is no longer going to be one. That she is going to wield her fate as her own. Wipe the dripping red off of her many ledgers.

Wipe the floor off its wet crimson, dry her ballet flats, find her footing and try to see the world the way other people do; no target blinking on foreheads until absolutely necessary. Only for peace and good.

Tony thinks she manages it well so far. She may have slipped here and there but she has been brave throughout. Held her own.

They may not share the easiest relationship, but Tony _loves_ her.

Like that day when she slipped a sunflower behind his ear and called him Antoshka, he loves her _still_.

She has many talents; reading people is one of her bests. The way she read him once was wrong, according to her. The way she’s reading him now, Tony doesn’t know her verdict, but the result is her palm against one of his cheeks and a soft press of her lips over his forehead.

“Whatever you do, I want you to be happy.”

Tony has the habit of running his mouth. He asks her, “Did you tell him the same thing?”

Because he loves her, he does. He’d _forgiven_ her, he did.

But scars remain and the one she left is still one of the most glaring ones among the rest.

She pauses, but she doesn’t pull. Her thumb gives a single brush over his cheekbone and she answers, “You are just as important as Steve is to me. You’re both my family, my boys. And I only want my family to be happy.”

There’s your answer, Tony thinks bitterly as he watches her leave.

He knows he had hurt her today. He knows that she hurts a bit every time they meet. But she’s determined to make it up with him and to be honest, Tony doesn’t know how much longer he can last before he caves in.

There’s Barnes whom he meets in the workshop.

Surrounded by a pile of spare parts and tools. His Henley is smudged ugly with motor oil and grease.

Tony secretly wishes he would be alone in the workshop today but as far as the day has been going, it’s robbing him off of all his plans.

They work in silence, and when the silence grows deafening, Barnes asks Tony, how he’s feeling.

“Steve’s… Things haven’t been easy for him lately. I hope you don’t let what he said affect you so much.”

A flare of annoyance lights up within Tony. He gets that they’re best friends forever. Been through the 30s and 40s and war and whatsoever together. He _gets it_.

But it’s annoying when others tell him about Rogers like Tony doesn’t know the man himself; hadn’t slept in the same bed as him, watch him laugh and cry and break and grow and still – They treat him as if he’s a stranger to him. That sucks, extremely so.

“I know how he gets.” Tony grunts, biting back his temper but judging from the way Barnes’ head snaps up to him, he’s not doing a very good job at it. “I’m not going to sue him over some temper tantrum, jeez,”

“It’s not the law suit I’m worried about.” Barnes says after a heavy beat of silence. “He already lost you, I just. I hope you don’t decide to quit or something stupid like that because I don’t think he can handle that.”

“Been picking after his messes have you?” Tony sneers, his vicious mood thriving in jealousy of what Barnes will always share with Rogers. Something unattainable even if Tony is to break seven levels of hell to get to Rogers.

Barnes regards him carefully. The wrench in his fist looking a bit bendy. “Something like that.”

He tilts his head. Then sighs, dropping the wrench with a loud clang that stops Tony in the midst of pulling apart the newly repaired armour so he can re-do it all over again. Trying to find solace in a numbing routine.

“Look. Stevie and I, we’re brothers. I feel like I can call you a friend now.” He pauses and continues when Tony says nothing.

“I know what he did was _wrong_. Told him I wasn’t worth it, but he did what he did thinking he could fix it but when he realised he couldn’t, I think it was too late for him. He wouldn’t regret saving me because he’s stubborn like that. I’m sure you know that. But he’s suffering. That’s his punishment. And I can tell you this. I’ve never seen Stevie love someone like he loves you. You’re something else for him." Barnes says. "Us, soldiers, we used to dream of our ‘it’, you know. End the war, go back home, find a gal that makes you feel she’s ‘it’ and we’ll get married, settle down, all that happy thing.” Barnes breathes. Tony holds onto his.

“I think you’re Steve’s it.” Barnes says with resolute conviction. “I used to think that maybe you didn’t deserve him. But then I met you and we talked and I see you and something tells me that Stevie is your ‘it’ too.” He exhales in a rush.

“I hope the two of you will talk it out because you both deserve to be happy and he cannot be happy without you while you struggle to fucking _breathe_ without him, Stark. This is not my place to say but I’m not sorry for all that I’ve already said. I just want you both to be happy.”

Tony thinks. Tony thinks, James Barnes and Natasha Romanov may be spending a lot of their time together. “I don’t regret he saved you either.” He tells him.

Rhodey and, _Steve_. Don’t come back that night. Tony didn’t expect them to. Natasha told him their location. Besides, the Council wouldn’t loosen their grip once they’ve had one on who they want and Tony knows all about that.

Instead of driving back, he lingers.

Dinner is a quiet affair with Wilson, Bruce, Natasha and Wanda. Barnes doesn’t make his appearance and Tony suggests Natasha go fetch him.

She laughs. “I think it’ll be better if it’s you.”

“I already talked to him.” Tony says, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

It’s Bruce’s cooking. Takes him back to their early days, having one of their first dinners as the Avengers. The tightness around Natasha’s mouth when she laughed earlier, told him he isn’t the only one reminiscing that night.

“Try again.” She snorts, scraping the chair away from the table with her weight, already standing up with her empty plate and drinking mug in each hand.

She gives him an odd unfamiliar smile before she leaves. Tony feels her judgement like the air hanging around him, and it’s suffocating that she’s wrong. Very wrong.

“It’s not like that.” He tells her, once everyone has gone with their business leaving only the two of them in the kitchen.

Natasha washes while Tony voluntarily wipes the dishes before stacking them up on the counter to be stored away after.

He thinks she’s discerningly quiet. It tests the temper Tony thought he’d lost in the upstate of New York about a year ago. He tries to think of better ways to follow up that claim, but all he manages is a cliched, “We’re friends.”

“Sounding very familiar there, Stark.” She sneers.

Tony grabs hard around the edges of the plate in his hand.

_“We’re only friends.”_

_“You sure about that?” Natasha asked. _

_Her red curls more vibrant. Her guards are sloppier. She’s around family and she let them feel that. _

_Tony used to be lighter too. More carefree, unguarded, thinner filter between his mouth and his brain. _

_“Is _he_ sure about that?” She squinted at him. A teasing smirk along her plump lips._

_Tony remembers her gaze flicking to the living room, where the rest of the team sat, bickering about which movie to watch that night. _

_He spotted the blonde, short cropped hair easily and when the owner turned as if he sensed Tony looking – a bright grin ready on his unfairly perfect face – Tony felt the dip in his gut. _

_The way his heart stuttered. All three large broken chunks coming to a stand-still for a brief moment, before they hummed and spun in a worshipping circle._

“I know I’m an asshole, Natasha. But you’re putting me on a higher pedestal here by assuming the worst.” He puts away the dried plate, tosses the towel and starts on storing the dried dishes. “This is not a soap opera and I’m not that petty bitch seeking revenge on her ex by sleeping with his best friend.”

Natasha vice grip around his wrist stops him. She doesn’t pull her strength this time around; green eyes glaring and plump lips pressed thin. “I did not say that. I never said that.”

“You were thinking that.” Tony twists his wrist, testing the give. She maintains her strength, unyielding.

“You want to know what I think, Stark? I think you and Steve are being uncharacteristically stupid. I think Barnes got himself tangled somewhere between the two of yours’ mess and now he’s suffering too. I think all three of you should -,”

“Natalia!” Barnes hiss is as loud as a yell down a barren hill.

Natasha lets him go, back straightening and she barely gives Tony anything before she’s storming out of the area, Barnes watching her leave.

“You should tell her.” Tony winces, nursing his wrist.

Pink streaks circle prettily, one, two, three, four; matching the size of Natasha’s thin fingers. He sighs and looks up at the other man.

Barnes still has his back to Tony, from when he turned to watch Natasha leave. His tensed shoulder however, slumps in defeat. Tony sees the way he brings both hands up to scrub at his face.

“There’s nothing to tell.” He grumbles, muffling his roughened voice in them.

Tony feels the manic urge to laugh. “Oh wow. So, this is how Natasha felt.” He mumbles mostly to himself.

But super serum and a super soldier; Barnes whips his head around to glare at him. “What do you mean?” He growls threateningly.

Tony lifts both hands up in surrender. “Nothing.” He shrugs. “I’m just trying to connect the dots in my head. Mostly monologues. But maybe you should know that she feels the same for you, if it’ll help. Both being spies, I thought it would annul the dumb part of initiating a relationship a.k.a jealously, assumptions and misunderstandings but boy, was I so wrong.”

“Stark.”

“Nothing, nothing. Just. Should have known insecurity always trumps talents. I mean -,”

“Can you shut your fucking trap?”

Tony mimes zipping his mouth and throwing away the key.

Barnes huffs at him, scrubbing his face once more as his eyes glance hopefully down the path the Widow has stormed off. “If you’re not right, I’m personally sabotaging your relationship with Steve.”

“You can’t sabotage what’s over!” Tony shouts after his shadow.

Super soldiers and super speed. Is there anything they’re not better at?

But of-fucking-course Barnes hears him and of-fucking-course he yells back, just as loudly and obnoxiously, “You wish!”

The silence which Barnes and Natasha leave him in is sobering.

Their attraction is youthful, passion burning with no inhibition, almost blinding them both from anything else but them. Tony remembers in details how that once felt.

The days when the entire universe revolved only around Steve and him. When every blink of Steve’s blue eyes meant something to him. When every careless word that slipped past Tony’s lips meant something to Steve.

He remembers the frailty of everything they stepped on. How they talked and loved and talked and loved so they could build something stronger.

But it must not have been strong enough because now, it’s broken. 

He sighs, the callous of his fingertips scratching lightly over the newly forming bruise one last time before he immerses himself into storing away the dried plates and mugs.

Cutleries.

He wipes the counter.

He fills a glass full of water and watches as it spills over.

The silence is deafening. The emptiness within him is so crippling that he misses when his broken heart used to wail, once upon a time.

He looks away, towards where the lawn is, behind the locked kitchen door and windows, and he tries to picture how it must be out there.

Late autumn, golden leaves, maybe crisp maybe not. _All,_ however, will fall, and all _will_, be fallen.

He remembers falling in love with Steve. He doesn’t know when it started, but he remembers half way through the process.

The realisation that his feeling was mutual. The clarity with which he looked at Steve one day and told him in stammering words_, “I love you. I – I love you so much, it **hurts**.” _

He remembers kissing him and feeling it on his lips like soldering iron. The burning heat.

The warmth of his hug.

His fingers when they touched.

The way Steve held him at nights and days when the goings got though because _“the tough must get going, Tony”._

He remembers the taste of Steve. His skin, his mouth and his breath.

The way Steve looked at him.

The way he loved. _So much, so hard, all at once,_ that Tony can feel his bones shifting to accommodate Steve within him. A hollow carved out the shape of him; _for_ him. 

_A match, Mr Stark. Your soul and the Captain’s are the perfect match. _

He turns off the tap. His fingers chilled from the cold water. In the end, he tips the full glass over and watches as the water spirals down the drain.

He takes another look at the closed kitchen door and he places the empty glass on the dryer before he walks away.

Muscle memories bring him to Rhodey’s room. It’s closed but unlocked. He twists the knob but doesn’t open it. His gut clenching and twisting when a thought pops up in his brain.

It’s late, half an hour past ten. But it’s not too late for all the residents to be asleep yet. He doesn’t know anymore who has the habit of wandering out from their cocoon after they retire once.

But the more he thinks about it, the least he thinks those possibilities are going to stop him from what he has in his mind.

It’s… Honestly, he doesn’t know what it is.

Maybe it’s the aftermath of the avalanche from Saturday morning. The concoction of listening to Steve lose it, the grating desperation in his usually confident voice. The pleading. Which lead to missing him.

The calm voice of T’Challa telling him about soul and matches; of brightness and darkness while he looked every bit as if he’s committing a crime against an unseen force.

The talk with Natasha and Barnes.

The wishes and wants to be happy again.

Or maybe he just _misses_.

Maybe he now remembers how Steve once perfectly replaced every missing pieces of his broken heart with his own.

How, broken as he was, even before he met Steve, once he did meet Steve and fell in love with him, his broken wailed less to _nothing_.

How it was only hopes and warmth and _love._ Maybe he misses that. Especially tonight when the silence is so deafening.

Tonight, when he witnesses again, after so long; young love.

Maybe Tony misses _Steve_.

And maybe that gives him the illusion of his once there but now dead rights, to push open the door to Steve’s unlocked room and take a dazed step inside.

For a long moment, he simply stands there and breathes. Every single muscle in his body tense with guilt but they can’t help but bask in; the hollow within him quivering with each inhale of Steve’s scent.

It’s everywhere. Granted it _is_ Steve’s room. But.

It’s _everywhere_. Around him, inside him; overwhelming.

It brings flashes of memories. Of how Steve was also, once, _physically_, around and inside him. How Steve, physically, was also _everywhere_.

But this time, it’s just his scent. The waft of mild spices mildly lingering in layers of earthy freshness that has always been, Steve.

He forgets to breathe for a second. Taking the next inhale with sudden sharpness, pulling in more of that overwhelming scent into him and he closes his prickling eyes against the force of his inhale.

Everything burns if - If he lets go once and imagines that the last two years has never happened.

It’s extremely easy to do that. The significantly familiar scent beyond helpful. If he just keeps his eyes closed and imagines himself with screams in his chest instead of eerie silence.

He can shift the location to Manhattan, Autumn in 2015.

Just after Ultron. Post apologies and a night spent together cuddling and sleeping, and he’s there, alone, in Steve’s room because Steve had just gotten up to shower.

He can feel where and where Steve had held him the tightest that night. He can see the sunlight spilling in; slow and glowing, one patch of cotton sheet at a time.

He can hear the bathroom door open if he keeps his eyes carefully closed still.

Can smell the fresh lemon scented body wash Steve liked to use. Mingling with the minty sharpness of his aftershave.

He can see the lazy smile that pulled up on Steve’s face when he saw that Tony’s still there; shirtless, stomach down on the bed with one eye squinted open to smile back at Steve.

He can feel the bed dipping as Steve knelt and leaned over until his mouth hovered over Tony’s sleep creased cheek.

The heat of his breath and the wetness of that single drop of water fallen from his still wet hair onto Tony’s bare shoulder.

The press of _‘Good morning, Tony’_ into his ear.

He takes another sharp, shuddering inhale. Pressing the heels of his palms against his closed eyes.

He can’t.

He’s torturing himself again. Said he would stop but he’s doing it again. He _can’t_.

He opens his eyes, intending to leave, but his wet eyes catch the set of drawers on the right of Steve’s bed.

Steve always slept on the left. Tony didn’t care. He slept _on Steve_.

Steve also had the habit of keeping his important stuffs in the second drawer beside his best.

If so far, almost nothing Tony has seen in Steve has changed, he wonders if that secret habit of his also remains the same.

He shouldn’t of course. It’s invading privacy. Steve Rogers may be his ex, but nobody deserves an invasion to their privacy.

He shouldn’t. He knows if Steve went through his drawers in his workshop while Tony isn’t there, without Tony knowing, he knows he’ll be mad.

But will he really?

Will he really be mad at Steve for snooping or will he be mad at himself for still hanging onto the past and being caught at it?

Will Steve be angry at Tony for snooping around his room or will he angry at himself for what Tony will find?

_There’s nothing about me that you don’t already know. _

_What you see. Me. Like this. This is it._

Tony takes a stilted step backward. Away from the drawers and towards the door.

_You’re wrong. I didn’t already know about this._

Maybe Steve won’t like what he’ll find in Tony’s drawers in the workshop.

Maybe Tony won’t like what he’ll find in here.

Tony goes back to the tower.

He stays up in the workshop tinkering with everything and accomplishing nothing.

His brain is numb, its usual cacophony of thoughts following the example of the void inside in chest; silent.

They come to a start whenever he pauses, head whipping up and around because he thought he smelled Steve. It’s pathetic, but that’s normal for Tony.

He thinks about progress. He thinks about healing. He wonders if he falls back into Steve’s arms, will he be undoing every one of them.

He wonders. 

\- 

“Will the great Tony Stark be available for a stay at home dinner with an old friend today or will he be, once again, too busy to grace her with his presence?”

“The great Tony Stark was under the impression that Your Highness has been too caught up in her love bubble to acknowledge his existence.” Tony smirks, swivelling around in his stool to come to rest in front of an amused Pepper Potts. “Hello, Miss Potts.”

“Hello to you too, Mr Stark.” Pepper pecks his cheek. “How’re you doing?”

Tony beams at her. Her floral eau de parfum a comforting distraction. “Well, now that you’re here. How was the date? Did you enjoy Paris with your beau.”

Pepper rolls her eyes, unhooking the straps of her Jimmy Choo, going bare feet as she hefts her weight to sit on the nearest table.

She looks radiant and fresh but Tony has once spent a few years dating her and he knows the powerful way in which Pepper can wield her make-up kit.

“I got the deal signed in Paris and made it barely in time for my dinner date _here_, in Manhattan. What’s this?” She picks up one of the discarded prototypes lying around.

“Not sure, not important.” Tony waves her off.

“Hey, tell me how the date went.” He engages her, hoping he’ll buy himself enough distraction to push away the prototype of Captain America’s shield lying just beneath the stack of paper – Ah. No luck then.

Pepper continues giving him the bites. But her clever eyes pick what he’s trying to hide. She tactfully doesn’t comment on it. But apparently her tact has an expiry date.

After Tony prattled away about his adventure to Wakanda with as much filtered information he can manage, she munches around a paneer tikka and asks him casually, “Did you see Steve?”

Tony opens his mouth to ask, “Why would I see Steve? When?” But smartly closes it before a word escape.

He’s not too dumb to not know about Pepper and Natasha’s friendship. It’s a scary thought. But death is scary and that’s pretty real too.

He swallows around his spoonful of rice and gulps down half a glass of water. When he’s confident that his voice won’t give him away, he says, “Nope.”

Pepper hums, tearing a piece of naan to clean up the last smatter of gravy on her plate. Tony picks around his own untouched scoop of paneer. He can feel the texture on his tongue without tasting it. It’s not like he hates the cottage cheese. He has nothing against them. It’s just – hell, he doesn’t even know why he’s thinking of that now –

“Can I ask you something?” Pepper’s voice cuts his wayward thoughts short.

He looks at her to see she’s been watching him. He shrugs.

She pulls a breath and nods before asking, “Do you still love Steve?”

If she expected Tony to be angry, or shocked, or in any way reacting with an emotional score between seven and ten, she doesn’t get it.

Tony’s surprised, sure. But he’s not surprised she asked him that. He’s more surprised that she’s asking it now.

Maybe he was expecting her to ask it earlier. When the wounds were still fresh. Or maybe later. When the wounds are mere aged scars that never throb once in a while.

Not now; when they’ve just crusted over and if he peels off the dead skin, they won’t bleed, but they’ll be pinkish. And they still throb. Late at night.

But the thing is, it doesn’t matter if she asked him yesterday, or today, or tomorrow. Tony realises that he will never know the answer to that.

Has he been in love with Steve Rogers? Yes.

Is he still in love with him? –

“Tony?”

“I don’t know.” He tells her, eyes wide and pleading.

Helpless because he doesn’t know the answer to a question which he’s been obsessing over himself. “I – I don’t know.”

Pepper nods. Tony swallows the lump in his throat with a block of paneer tikka.

She waits until he stuffs a piece of naan in his mouth to ask, “Do you – Do you want to?”

Tony sucks a sharp breath in. A large chunk of naan with it and he coughs, choking on the mouthful of Indian takeout they’ve decided for the night.

Pepper slaps his back hard, a number of times until his coughing fit recedes and she offers him her glass of water.

Tony glares at her sheepish look.

“What kind of question is that?” He demands her after. “Do I want to still be in love with him? Do I still want to be hurting? To mope around? -,”

“You’re doing better now -,”

“- You think I chose half of the shit that happened to me?”

“- you’re more settled now. I was just wandering -,”

“Wandering what? If I’m suicidal?”

Pepper has the dignity to wince. “You know that’s never what I meant.”

Tony swallows another gulp of water, avoiding her glower.

“I miss him.” He says in the end. Because if there’s anything that he’s sure about, this is that only piece of information amidst the entire mess.

“I miss him too.” Pepper murmurs in agreement. Her glower is now a misty pair of pale blue and Tony hates them.

He looks away and he remembers. The three of them rarely in one room together, but Steve and Pepper had their own thing. Art museums and classical music. They had their own equation.

“You can always talk to him.” He points out bleakly.

Pepper shakes her head. “I’m mad at him.” She says. “Was.” She corrects. “Not anymore, but I was. Which is why I ask you…,” She trails off.

“I’m not mad at him. I just -,” Tony sighs.

He places the plate with unfinished paneer and gravy on the coffee table in front of them. He’s not full but he cannot stomach anything anymore.

“I _don’t know_. With him. It’s -,” He tries and grapples for a way to explain what it is, but Pepper puts him out of his misery, kindly.

“It’s okay. It’s complicated.” She nods, tipping the trickle of water left in her glass and watching it run down the length.

Then carefully, she confesses. “I’m meeting him on Monday, for lunch.”

Tony waits for the bitter feeling of betrayal to make its appearance. He waits a second, then two. When it doesn’t, he shrugs at her and wishes sincerely. “I hope you both have fun.”

She studies his face cautiously. Tony can tell that she’s tip-toeing. “I’m not mad.” He tells her.

She doesn’t believe him completely, but she moves past that with eloquence.

“Good. I’m allowed to have friends other than the great Tony Stark.”

“Why, Your Highness, of course, you do.”

-

When Tony does something wrong, he usually buys the apologies.

In special cases (read: Pepper, Rhodey and a handful of people he’s not sure if they are what they once were to him anymore), he says sorry.

Verbally, vocalizes it. It may or may not always reach the sufficient decibels, but oh well, they usually suffice.

Pepper apologizes with pouty lips and wide blue eyes. Soft lines of sorry and regret enveloping her apology effectively. Rhodey. Never apologizes. Rhodey does no wrong.

Natasha apologizes, with a cup of tea.

The first night in the tower after the entire team moved in, Tony walked into the kitchen looking for coffee, but found the ex-assassin slash Spy instead.

He contemplated leaving but then he remembered that he owned the place, so he pulled his nose high up the air and marched into space.

He got himself a cup of chamomile tea that day.

Not the kind which comes from dried leaves, filtrated and packed into three fingers width paper bag with instructions to steep for exactly three minutes and no less or more in a cup of 80degree Celsius water, no less, no more.

He got himself a cup of chamomile tea, painstakingly hand blended by the Black Widow herself; dried tea leaves mixed with pressed and dried chamomile flowers.

He’d never been a fan of tea but the crafty way which she demonstrated the steeping process before handing him a cup both fascinated and pleased him.

She topped it with a whole rehydrated chamomile flower and it was the most beautiful drink he’d ever tasted.

When Tony goes back to the Compound on Saturday, she pushes a pretty cup of purple tea with a single pea flower floating on it. He drinks it and she tucks a fresh daisy behind his ear as she whispers her apology.

Her fingers are gentle when they retrace the awfully matching purple prints she had left on his left wrist, her expression carefully blank.

Tony catches Barnes’ eyes over her shoulder and grins when he sees what’s in the little jar that he’s hypnotically spinning on the wooden kitchen table; a pea flower tea blend.

“You’re lucky you’re not wrong.” Barnes tells him over lunch.

After that, when Tony habitually visits the workshop, he finds Steve Rogers in there instead.

Tony’s breath seizes just like it did when he first saw him today. But there were companies then, and it was subtle, milder. While now, they’re alone. In private.

Tony’s been spending some hours thinking about this kind of situation ever since the want to talk to Steve plagued him on Wednesday, and he understandably, _panics_.

He doesn’t know if he gave himself away; but super serum and super soldiers, he can’t rely on his luck as long as they are there.

He didn’t run though. He doesn’t intend to run. He just needs a minute to calm the crash of wave in his nervous system, a moment to get himself together, so he backtracks that one step he took into the workshop, lets the door slide close while he glues his spine to the wall and breathes.

Just a moment. One minute.

That’s all he needs.

When he re-enters, his unannounced guest looks at him. Tony thinks about trying for a smile but he couldn’t.

Fuck. What is he even thinking? Is Steve Rogers and Tony Stark are even on smiling term anymore? But -

But.

Tony misses him. He misses that crinkles that pull up next to Steve’s bright blue eyes when he’s unsure and he’s trying for a smile just like he is now.

He misses the way those blue reflect lights and dark and the way they bask in the glow of his reactor –

The reactor. Right. There are so many things that Steve doesn’t know about him anymore.

Steve may remain unchanged – at least physically if not mental – but the same can’t be said for Tony.

He’s a different man. A different body, as well as a different mind. There are lines and scars there that Steve had never seen.

With that thought, Tony abandons his attempt to smile and walks in. “About last Saturday -,” he starts, the same moment Steve says, “I’m sorry.”

Tony stops. And he looks at Steve. _Really _looks at him.

The nervous way he holds himself, unlike the commanding way he does when they’re surrounded by the others. The way his fingers don’t stop fidgeting.

The way he keeps minutely running his palms up and down the outsides of his thighs. The way he keeps swallowing and breathing a little unsteadily.

Tony looks at him and he_ sees_.

He fears the line of memory that his brain pulls out for him. He fears recalling the last time he’d seen Steve like this.

He knows_ when_. Exactly _where _and _what _happened there and he knows what he did then. He just doesn’t like to remember that.

He tilts his head curiously and wonders if Steve doesn’t like to remember Siberia the same way Tony doesn’t like to remember_ that_ memory as well.

Maybe, he thinks. Nobody likes to remember when their heart got broken. Much less, when they broke someone else’s heart.

Tony follows the long sweep of big hands down large thighs and frowns. “You keep apologizing.” He says. The tremble of his fingers carefully hidden in the pockets.

Steve rigid shoulders slump in defeat. Tony pulls up a chair and sits opposite him. He watches the way Steve’s lips purse and tremble when he huffs. He listens to the words they push out.

He realises he misses when Steve speaks like this; conversational, casual, whispery and without the depth of his command voice.

He hates – hated – Steve once. He just misses him now.

“I don’t know what else to say. I keep… hurting you.”

“I hear that I keep hurting you in return, so we’ll consider that a fair pay. I don’t mean to. I’m sure you don’t either. But. I don’t want your apologies.” Tony tells him.

He sees the way those bright blue eyes widen, and how they sweep all over Tony, taking him in.

He sees how Steve swallows dryly before he speaks; and when he does, it’s rough and raw, cracking at the end of his sentence.

“What do you want, Tony.” Not condescending, just resigned.

It’s shocking that the reply his mind supplies with a carefree ease is; _I want you. _

It catches Tony off guard, pausing him with parted lips, reply ready on the tip of his tongue before he hastily snaps his mouth shut and closes his eyes.

He shakes his head in disbelief, eyes trained down onto the floor as he scuffs his shoe and wills himself to breathe. “I want to. I want_ us_ to move on.”

The defeat that had weighed down Steve seems to evaporate the moment he comprehends what Tony just said.

His face drains out of its colour; eyes burning harshly brighter than before, he presses his lips thinly together, shoulders rigid the way they were when Tony had first stepped in.

On guard as if Tony’s an attack dog, and he speaks as if the words are bitter on his tongue. “Have you?”

“I _want_ to.” Tony says carefully.

The blue of Steve’s eyes are intimidatingly steely, like he’s so offended by the idea that Tony’s suggesting. “And you want me to, as well.”

Tony breathes. “We can’t mend anything or start anew if we keep wallowing in the past, S- Rogers. And you know that.”

Resignation is a sad look on Steve. When he nods, all the fights bleeding out of him; helpless, it looks awful.

Tony hates himself. But again, he doesn’t understand why Steve is so adamant to hold onto the past. He asks, “It’s so ruined, Rogers. What are you hanging onto anymore?”

Even the streak of smile he gives Tony is desolate. “I thought I was hanging onto something. But apparently, it’s nothing.”

Tony frowns. It doesn’t sit right with him. “What something?” He asks feebly, fearing the answer but wanting to know.

“Us?” Steve swallows. Eyes darting away from Tony, fixing onto a faraway wall where Barnes used to sit.

Tony stares at him staring at a wall. He sees how they – Steve and him as a pair – are_ unbecoming_.

They’re grief-stricken, wretched pair with heads as stubborn as a mules.

He sees why their friends worry. He sees what T’Challa meant when he told Tony what he should have to Steve because he didn’t believe Steve would listen to him.

_Used to listen. Not anymore._

He sees how grave had crawled its way into what Steve and Tony had once built around them. The way forlorn, and despair had bloomed and made their home in there.

All they sing in the morning and when they go to bed is pain. All they do is wail and grate and grate and they _hurt_.

All because Steve and Tony allowed that. They watched death pave a graveyard out of their life and _let _it happen.

“I want to move on from the blood bath that’s our past. Not from, us -,”

“Tony -,”

“No. I don’t know,” He cuts him short before Steve could get any ideas. “I just want to move on for now. Can we just. Don’t ask me more?”

He fists his hands, feeling the nails biting crescent into his palms and he pulls a long, slow breath in, eyes closing.

When he opens them again - a minute after, according to the timer in his brain – Steve’s watching him, misty blue eyes and clenched jaw, the muscle at the far corner twitching, but his shoulders are hunched in defeat and pain.

“Tell me one thing.” Tony tells him gruffly, swallowing the lump and tears down his throat, taking another deep inhale and exhaling in a huff.

Steve brings his hands up to face, scrubbing twice before he too, sighs and sits up straight. “Shoot.” He says, eyes clearer, dry sniffles and the thickness in his voice is the only remaining proof that he was struggling with composure a second ago.

Tony swallows again for good measure. “Don’t lie.”

When Steve nods, he asks, “How many times did you come to find me?”

He doesn’t specify when or where but they both know that.

The need to know to that question had been growing like weed in the back of Tony’s head since Pepper reminded him of Steve’s visit. He ignored it, trusting the strained equation between them to be the saving grace.

But of course, he gave that too much credit. An old reoccurring mistake on his part. He tends to underestimate the power Steve has over his control.

It’s not Steve’s fault per say, it's just, the way Tony’s wired when it comes to Steve Rogers apparently.

He wonders if Steve has similar fault when it comes to Tony too.

He doesn’t know what he’ll do with that knowledge because he’s too faulty to take advantage of that without hurting himself by proxy.

Maybe it’ll be nice to know that their grounds are levelled when it comes to affecting weakness to each other, he supposes.

“I didn’t count.” Steve answers robotically. Eyes trained far away from Tony, over his shoulder. “But I know when I stopped.”

“When?”

Blue eyes flickered. “When you saw me.”

Tony takes a sharp inhale.

Something stutters in his chest and for a brief moment, he thinks of the broken pieces of his heart before he remembers that the vault is now, empty. But something. Something _does_ stutter in there. With a hollowed sickening crunch.

“When did you start, Steve?” He asks, holding his breath.

His ears ring, horrific memories from over a year ago fleeting through the forefront of his brain and he bites the inside of his cheek from wincing.

Steve’s sudden inhale is an audible gasp and Tony realises belatedly when blue eyes mist over, looking into his own brown ones, that he’d called Steve by his name.

He holds himself in defiance, as though expecting something or someone to call him out on it, but nothing does. No one. Not even Steve.

“I never stopped,” He says softly, the hunch is back on his shoulders. The twist in his face, pleading for Tony to understand. “After Bucky got into cryo, I -,” He shrugs as if it isn’t a big deal.

But it _is_.

It fucking is.

“You never stopped.” Tony repeats breathily, pulling his own hands from the pockets and pressing them over his face.

His neurons are firing at light speed, calculating. Going over all the things that he did during the time span between – let’s assume – three months after that fateful bunker in Siberia, the partying, the overdose.

“Did. Did you know about the rehab?” He stammers, feeling light headed. Because if he does. If – T’Challa said he stopped. But, if he does –

“Pepper updated me. It’s on that condition that I don’t follow you everywhere you go.” Steve confesses, head ducked down.

“Jesus.”

“It was by text. Pepper was very professional. There was no friendliness at –

“Are you listening to yourself now?” Tony cuts him off, voice embarrassingly high but there’s no accompanying shame there, just pure disbelief.

“You stalked me for half a year and you’re trying to defend Pepper’s virtue!”

“I had to know you’re safe, Tony. I had to. I just -,”

“Why!?” Tony raises his voice, only later realising that he’d hopped off of his seat, standing with chest expanding rhythmically to his heavy breathing. “Why do you _have _to know I’m safe?”

_When you left me less-so in cold. Dying. _He minces, untrusting himself to handle another apology. He’s seething but he’s not so far gone to forget what he asked from Steve; to move on.

“Because I -,” Steve pauses, the fury with which he opened his mouth initially getting tempered as Steve stops and recollects himself, breathing deep.

Then he says, with cool levelness, as if Tony is a five years old in need of a reminder.

“Because I love you, Tony.”

Tony’s knees unbuckle and he falls heavily into his seat.

“I have and I always will. Even if you hate me, I will. Because I. Don’t _know_ how to stop.”

He shakes his head, eyes wide and begging while his entire body shakes with contained emotions; **Captain America**, _a beacon of good and hope. A hero. Not a human but a super human_.

But _Steve Rogers_ is.

As human as everyone else are._ Mundane_. Like Tony. Like Pepper and Rhodey (Rhodey, with two paralysed limbs). And he’s cracking.

Steve Rogers loves and he hurts and he begs for forgiveness. His Achilles heel is Tony Stark and Tony Stark wasn’t even made aware of that.

“I’m sorry.” He says.

So many apologies still stored in him, for he’s sorry for so many things when it comes to Tony.

They say, the one you love the most hurts you the worst. He wishes Tony had loved him less just so he can spare him half the hurt. But that’s not how the world works, does it? That’s not how _anything _works.

“I’m so sorry.” He says, fingers itching to hold the other man, they come to a halt mid-air. But he clenches them forcefully into a fist and he leaves.

There are so many apologies stored heavy in his chest for Tony. They hurt. They burn so bright and they ache so much.

But Tony doesn’t want them. All Tony wants is to move on and Steve will, with all his might, carry the burden with an oath of silence and give Tony what he wants.

Then, there’s Tony. Feeling like a truck had just ran over him not because he didn’t know, but hearing it out loud drove the confirmation home like nothing else.

That, coupled with the way Steve is struggling to hold himself. Visibly shaking as if he’ll fall and crumble any second and that.

That hurts.

Because Tony does too, he realises weakly. He does too. Love Steve.

Never stopped. Through the pain, the emptiness, and it’s with a bleeding void; like that time when Steve’s shield met his reactor and his heart burst into nothing.

It’s with nothingness, deafening silence and nothing else. It’s with emptiness and void and nothingness, that Tony _still loves_ Steve.

And he doesn’t know what to do with that kind of ache.

A hollow, ripping ache that singes everything around it; burning and burning and _burning. _But, no. It’s not the hot, fiery burn.

This one is icy. Cold and freezing; numbing but with needle prick sharpness puncturing through over and over, needling Steve’s name, scent, taste, _everything_, over and over. Stitching them into his void, like that will stick, because it won’t.

But the needles don’t stop. _Can’t _stop.

_I don’t know how to stop._

-

“It’s amazeballs! She can control gamma rays, UV, visible light, electricity, infrared, microwaves and radio! And she can transition between them within seconds with quite possibly limitless capacity! I wouldn’t put it past her to be immortal and she keeps telling me that Carol’s powers are more lit, but Carol doesn’t wanna let me study her so that sucks. But overall, it’s still so cool!”

Tony lets Shuri’s excitement seep through his veins, take some of the shocking numbness away from there.

It’s nice to hear joy radiated with such exuberance that you can feel it as your own. He credits it to youth. He probably sounded just like Shuri, once. Maybe Rhodey remembers.

But there’s also a high chance that he’d started closing lid over his emotion-can so early on that no one still alive can recount what pure excitement looked like on Tony’s face. Not even Tony himself.

Regardless. It’s nice.

“Maybe if you ask nicely.” He suggests, bringing his fingers to brush over a stray mist coated golden leaf on the mowed lawn.

The dews collect under his tips, cumulating into a big dollop of water drop that tilts the leaf to one side.

Tony picks it up and twirls it by its stem, standing up from the crouch before his knees start cramping.

“Urgh.” The teen grunts and Tony smiles, sensing an exaggerated eye roll across the ocean. “Tried. Got turned down twice. She’s so hot I’ll probably try again just to hear all the creative ways she can turn me down.”

An eyebrow perks up high on Tony’s forehead. “Is that a crush, Princess?” He teases, wiping the leaf before pocketing it.

“_Can_ you blame me? You did see her, didn’t you? She’s all power. She can top me anytime she wants Tony, I swear.”

Tony lets the chuckle punch out, liberating his chest from the ominous squeezing feeling. “Good luck.”

“Uh, huh.” A pause. “How're you doing, Tony?”

Tony stops mid pacing. Breath catching mid-inhale. He remembers being younger than Shuri when he saw his mother’s smiles and saw the slip at their corners.

The wobble in her words sometimes and the rigid way she often held herself as if determined to not let life push her down because she could collapse with a kiss of breeze to her pink cheek.

He remembers watching other parents; in both PTA and graduation ceremonies, wishing bleakly that it was Howard who kissed her pretty cheek instead.

He remembers how sadness looked at the tender age of four. The same age he built his first circuit board. They got him a ‘child genius’ title for the latter, but in his mind, he was accepting it for the former.

“I’m amazeballs, Princess.”

Shuri snorts on the other end. “Of course, Mr Stark.”

But Tony doesn’t miss how she didn’t protest outrageously over him misusing the millennial term (or whatever that is).

He heaves a sigh and puts on a smile even if she can’t see. He feels like he should with her and Peter. Maybe that’s how his mother felt around him too.

“I hope to hear from you again next week, Princess. More updates on Miss Danvers will both be expected and appreciated.”

“For sure. But you can also call in anytime, Tony. I can tell you how my kingly brother is secretly a clumsy heathen.”

He hears a muffled protest accompanied by a shrill giggle and before Tony realises, he’s grinning easily as he bids Shuri goodbye, hoping someone saves her from the wrath of her brother.

Siblings. He wonders how it feels to have one.

Pocketing the phone, he picks out the leaf and twirls it, accompanying his fingers as he looks over the other side of the lawn where the kitchen door to the Compound stands threateningly.

He concentrates hard on the limp stem in between his index and thumb, willing away the anxiety that creeps up upon seeing the lit kitchen, obscured only by the thick windows over the stove.

If he focuses his vision, he can make the hourglass figure of Natasha, looming in her red sweater. Probably – no, definitely – keeping an eye on Tony.

He assumes Barnes will be around there too. Stuck by their hips now that they’ve settled their little crush issue; Tony’s lips quiver, threatening to smile and he allows, liberating the muscles that keep them taught and forbidding.

He allows himself; in the dusk of November, mist sparkling like diamonds on the neatly trimmed lawn beneath his dress shoes, a bright crescent overhead while crickets chirp in the distance; he allows himself to have that tiny stretch of smile in honour of love - that have wronged him many times in many ways.

Inevitably, he wonders where Steve is.

What he’s doing? Is he watching a movie with the rest of them or is he sulking at the dining table, waiting desperately for Natasha play the eye for him while Barnes pats his shoulder morosely?

He wonders.

He also wonders about their love; like a rock on the shore, washed raw by the sea, over and over until the outer layer is unrecognizable.

He imagines the mosses and barnacles that grow from the moist and years represent their layers of repressed issues and misunderstandings; so dangerously slippery and stubborn.

No matter how many times you try to rub them clean, you’ll probably never reach the bottom of it. Forever changed by time and obstacles.

Very unlike Natasha's and Barnes' newly blossoming affection.

Tony can only hope they’ll be wiser, thread the water more carefully, take their time to pause and wash away the mosses and rid of creeping barnacles so nothing piles up until when they stop and look back, their foundation had become a hideous thing. Like Tony’s and Steve’s.

A pity, because Tony remembers how beautiful it was once.

Selfishly, he wonders. If they can go back to that time. When they were more innocent and cautious. Selfishly, he also wonders if. _If, _their ruin is salvageable still.

Then he wonders, what’s so selfish about that. Because he’s 100% sure, he’s not the only one between them with that kind of longing.

Judging by what Steve had said earlier – at least, as much as he was willing to share, which was not much but explicit – he still loves Tony.

With his mountain of apologies which he keeps spewing no matter how many times Tony asks him not to, he loves Tony.

And as much as he finds it frustrating and pathetic, Tony still loves him too – well, that answers Pepper’s question now, doesn’t it?

Tony pinches the stem tighter and breathes out.

He wishes it’s that easy to expel the quelling frustration from his system; just breathe out. He wishes. But wishes are fishes. Nothing is ever going to come out of them.

However, that knowledge has never stopped humanity from wishing has it; blown out candles, shooting star, fallen tooth beneath your pillow.

He bets Steve put his baby tooth under his pillow – or makeshift, whichever they could afford then – too. Wonder what he wished for though…

With that question, Tony pockets back the autumn washed leaf and makes his way into the kitchen. If he’s lucky, Natasha will be waiting with another mug of her pretty tea.

She does.

Along with a kiss to his cheek which makes Tony wonder how long before that expires – like all things inevitably do.

He places a safe bet on as long as the bruise on his wrist takes to disappear and he tucks that stray thought away as he takes in the surrounding, cheering weakly when he spots Steve next to Barnes on the dining table.

There’s no hovering metal arm over Steve’s shoulder as he imagined but that doesn’t mean that Barnes never gave him at least a single pat since sitting beside him.

He pulls out the chair opposite Steve who has his head ducked down, eyes trained bleakly on the wooden table.

Tony nods in Barnes’ direction when his tongue feels too heavy on the floor of his mouth to get a word of greeting out.

The other man nods back understandingly, clear eyes darting over and back from Tony’s shoulder too quickly to be missed. But he catches it, and he catches the weight in them even though it was fleeting and he knows who’s on the other end of that silent conversation.

Surely, a minute after, as Tony indulges in a second sip of hibiscus tea, Barnes clears his throat, drawing his attention before he walks away, Natasha following him with a gentle brush down Tony’s arm.

“If they think they’re being subtle, they’re very wrong.” Tony murmurs, keeping his eyes on their disappearing back.

He hears a humourless snort and only then he dares to look at Steve, taking a deep inhale as his focus shifts.

Despite the muted reaction, the man doesn’t say another word, head still bowed down. Tony searches his face with a surprising thirst; caught off guard by the way his own eyes drink every single feature on Steve’s face.

The furrow between his eyebrows, shades darker than his lighter hair, almost the same as the curls hidden.

The way his lips are pressed tight against one another, cutting the circulation and making them appear paler.

The curve of his ears and how soft the lobes feel to touch – how softer they feel on tongue.

From the slight crookedness to his sharp nose to the little dip beneath his plumpness of his lower lip.

From the way light smattering of freckles to his darker birth mark –

_“You sure you don’t have a fetish?”_

_“Fetish over you? Sure, I do,” Tony flattened his tongue on purpose over the last mark along Steve’s throat, earning a two-finger shove to his forehead. _

_He catches the fingers, diving back into his task of tracing every inch of Steve with his tongue. _

_He sealed his mouth over Adams’ apple when Steve tilted his head back and gave a gentle suck before trailing north again. Giving harmless little nibbles along the curve of Steve’s jaw, moving to suck on an earlobe which made Steve twist his fingers in Tony’s hair and grunt. _

_He chuckled, giving the remaining two birthmarks on Steve’s cheek a peck each before dropping his weight over Steve’s body, pinning him effectively on the couch as he turned back to the TV, trying to pick up from where he left off of the movie._

_But it’s hard to concentrate when your boyfriend is tracing patterns over your naked back in revenge, going lower and lower and –_

_Tony jolted, knocking Steve’s side with his elbow with a giggle which led to a grunt and laugh before he got flipped around onto the couch, hovering mass of his boyfriend bordering dangerously between crushing him and not and it’s a thrilling risk; between wanting and not wanting Steve to crush him with his entire weight and Tony ached with a certainty to feel that weight in his bones. _

_Unaware that when he finally does, months later, he’ll be begging not to._

“Hey.” He calls, presenting the leaf he’d pocketed outside when Steve looks up.

“Truce?” Steve’s eyes dart from the limp leaf to Tony’s face, widening in surprise.

“I’m kinda tired of holding grudge.” He shrugs as an explanation. Leaf still hanging limply by its stem in the middle of the table.

Truth is, it’s difficult to begrudge a person when said person has all the right to begrudge in return but doesn’t.

It’s also difficult to begrudge someone you still love so deeply after they crushed you into nothing, knowing – knowing that you also, once, crushed them just as badly and yet, they forgave you for it.

Steve frowns, but he accepts the leaf.

Carefully keeping the contact to bare minimum as if he’ll burn Tony if he doesn’t. Tony bites the inside of his cheek, curbing the sudden urge to grin like a mad man.

He doesn’t know what it is, but seeing Steve accept the truce; let go and forgive and try to move on, it makes him feel all too light out of nowhere.

Weightless and strangely afloat as if all that has been weighing him down before was their strained relationship – which, maybe it was.

And now that they’re putting that behind, he feels relieved and really, _really_ glad.

“Tony -,” Steve starts.

Tony stops him when he senses another apology coming. “Hush. You say another sorry and I have to demand my truce-leaf back.”

A soft huff of laughter escapes Steve, shifting his entire face from taught and tensed to relaxed and soft; closely resembling the Steve Tony fell in love with years ago.

“Truce-leaf, huh?” He asks, watching as he twirls the leaf, its stem pinched between his index and thumb, with intense curiosity before shifting the same gaze to Tony, who swallows thickly, trying for and succeeding with a smile – just a small one with the amount of energy he can muster for now – and shrugs.

Steve smiles back, his blue eyes twinkling with unshed tears which Tony really doesn’t want to witness so he scrapes the chair back, urgently draining the tea before pulling open the dishwasher.

“I’m gonna go sleep, now.” He informs with his back to Steve, deliberately dragging the process of closing the dishwasher, hoping Steve would have gathered himself enough in the meantime.

Hoping that when he turns around, he doesn’t see tears swimming over his bright blue eyes because that would hurt and that would make him cry and Tony is _so_ tired of crying.

Steve greets him with a brave smile when he turns and Tony thanks him internally for still being so understanding.

_I love you too, but I just want to move on for now. Can we just. Don’t ask me more?_

“Goodnight, Tony.”

“Goodnight, Steve.”


	3. Moving On

Trying to move on is… not easy.

Wanda’s grief is a festering wound. Her silence is unyielding, even for Natasha to try and worm their ways through.

Sam flanks her when she’s alone. Rhodey watches her with increasingly worrying eyes. So does Steve. And as for Barnes, he’s pale and stoic in her presence.

“I can feel her.” He says, when Tony casually asks him what’s with the ‘freezing’ when it comes to Wanda.

The wire _snaps_ free out of his hold and he jerks back in surprise, shaking his head when he meets Barnes’ watchful eyes from where he crouches, correcting a dent from Tony’s armour with his metal hand.

Tony clears his throat, giving up on the wire for now and making a grab for the grease soiled towel to wipe the motor oil off of fingers.

Barnes eyes hollow his movements, even as his own fingers are busy with something else; pressing and moulding the titanium alloy.

“What do you mean, you can feel it?” Tony asks in carefully controlled tone.

His own memory from when he felt her power first hand is sizzling up front bringing traumatic fear in its trail, and he doesn’t want to let that fear show in his face, not when he doesn’t know what Barnes actually means –

“She’s magic, right?”

Tony opens his mouth, a long winding explanation on gene mutation and influence of the mind stone ready on his tongue. But he bites it back and shrugs instead. “You can say that.”

“I have a fucked-up brain, or a brain that’s been fucked with a large number of times – depending on where you’re looking from. She’s upset all the time and I don’t think it’s helping her with her control over her power. I can feel it -,”

“When you say feel…,”

“Hard to explain.” Barnes scrunches his face in concentration. “It just – I feel it. Like, it does something in my head. At first,” He adds, looking up at Tony, face back to its ominous blankness. “- not so much, but lately, it’s… I can’t be near her without getting a headache.”

“Did you tell anyone?” Tony asks, genuinely concerned. Magic is shit. Has always been shit.

It’s not Wanda’s fault but still. Magic is shit.

Barnes smooths the corrected dent and places it aside before he nods.

“Natasha?”

“Steve.” He clarifies.

Tony pauses, refusing the past to shadow their present. It’s not a secret that Steve has a soft spot for Wanda. She’s a kid. A _teen_ when they found her. She lost her other half and then, _another_ half before she could even finish grieving for the former.

If Tony doesn’t fear magic so much, they’ll probably have a closer relationship. Like Peter and him perhaps. But it is as it is. They’ve talked and forgiven each other; her for assuming the worst of him and him for the mental manipulation she did to him.

But magic is shit and it largely explains why he distances himself from her, which she both understands and doesn’t mind_. _

_She knows_ and she has never manipulated that knowledge, ever, which he’s extremely grateful for.

“What did he say?” He asks Barnes, tossing the dirty towel at him and watching him catch it swiftly, proceeding to meticulously rub the dirt and soot stuck to his metal hand.

“Said he’ll talk to her.”

“Did he?”

Barnes shrugs. Tony bites the inside of his cheek, sinking into the nearest chair with a frown on his face.

“You can ask him.” Barnes suggests with an uncharacteristic drawl.

Tony raises an eyebrow. Barnes half shrugs, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

It’s been three weeks since their truce. Tony’s counting only because he can’t help it.

It has been a bit difficult easing Steve through their initial awkwardness upon reconciling; they kept running over each other’s words, or stammering and laughing abashedly.

Now, it’s still not as fluid as Tony knows they’re capable of being, but still, it’s better.

Less stammering and awkward chuckles but the laughs and smiles are still there, even more prominently than Tony ever remembers interacting with him. It’s disconcerting in the way that it makes Tony recheck his own wants and feelings for Steve.

There are times he finds himself smiling too wide or _flushing_ and as soon as his actions register, he has to stop and regroup himself; his emotions more so than his thoughts.

His thoughts feel _stable_, grounded, but his emotions have this tendency to leak out when he’s with Steve.

He’s not the only one to realise that. He is also not the only to have those leaks either. On multiple occasions, he has been on the receiving ends of Rhodey’s disapproving looks. Tony doesn’t know what to think of that.

But Rhodey’s not the only one who has been paying them attention.

Even if it’s only one night a week when Tony’s exposed to Steve, it’s enough for a group of spies and super-people to catch on to the drift and soon, they’ve all been dropping teasing remarks here and there, meaningful eyes and gestures.

It’s not even like they’re dating but that’s how the group’s treating their truce and honestly, Tony knows he can put a stop to that, but he simply hasn’t bothered to.

He pays extra attention to Wanda during their sparring session. He sees how she spends most of her practice partnering with Steve.

He remembers Natasha having a good rapport with her before but now it appears as if Natasha is carefully avoiding her.

Wilson tries to intercept here and there but he always ends on his butt after round one, so he ends up partnering with Rhodey instead.

Tony does a few rounds with Natasha, then Rhodey, Wilson and Barnes.

The sparring session is supposed to rotate that way, so each member gets to learn the others’ weaknesses and help them overcome them. Usually they rotate between three to four partners during their two hours session.

This week, he doesn’t spar with neither Wanda nor Steve, with how Wanda occupied most of Steve’s time, and by the end of it, he’s clearly exhausted to his bones – a super soldier, not an easy feat to wear him out like that.

Tony waits until the gym clears out. He knows Steve stays behind without a miss to clean up after them.

Conveniently, everyone fills out without lingering; each of them shooting Tony and Steve a knowing look. It saves him the time but he’s not so sure about being the one to spin the rumour wheel for this week.

Steve obviously catches everyone’s drift, an amused expression on his face when Wilson closes the door whistling You’re All I Need to Get By by Marvin Gaye loud enough to piss Tony off that when he realizes how much it gets to his nerves, he ends up laughing instead of yelling at him, scrubbing his face as he shakes his head at his teammate.

“Hey, Tony.” Steve calls his attention.

Tony turns to him, Wilson flying right out his mind that instant. He’d forgotten how good Steve looks post working out, “Hey, Steve.”

Steve’s flushed face gives way to a smile and Tony responds in kind, his own blood whooshing everywhere out of control, before he recalls the reason he is actually there for.

“I talked to Barnes.” He says, summoning his serious face back.

Steve puts away the rolled-up tape and starts rolling another, the smile dropping off of his face as he listens intently to Tony, ears still pink but fading.

“About Wanda.” Tony starts cautiously, pulse picking up, anticipating Steve to bark at him to shut up about Wanda.

Once bitten, twice shy. Tony still remembers the unbroken set of pens because Steve found out about Wanda being kept compound-bound. It hadn’t been Tony’s decision, but still –

Anticlimactically, Steve simply says, “Oh.” No hostile expressions crawling onto his face except for a concerned frown.

“Rhodey and I talked about it.” He says. “We’re trying to get her to -um - deal with it better? But -,”

“Grief. Yeah.” Tony nods understandingly.

“Yeah.”

Tony watches as Steve rolls up two more tapes before pocketing his own clammy hands and asks, “So, did you talk to her?”

Steve looks up from his task, lips pressed tight, frowning, but he nods.

“Mind me asking how did it go?”

Steve gives him a smile; smaller than the one before Tony started this topic. Almost makes him wish he didn’t start it to begin with, almost.

“No, it’s fine. She – er – she said she’s thinking about leaving the team.” Tony’s stomach drops. “I talked her out of it. Didn’t think it’s wise for her to be out there all alone what with her current situation.”

“She agreed?”

“Yeah. But…,” Steve trails off, pinning the last roll and dropping it with the other on the floor. He looks up at Tony, hunching forward in the bench and clasping his hands in front.

“She’s suffering.” He sighs wearily, and Tony sees how he blames himself for this. Even if it isn’t his fault. But Steve can spin the tale in his head to point the blame at himself – and T’Challa said Tony is bad.

“She’s mourning, Steve.” Tony reminds him. “You can’t blame yourself for that.”

“I know.” Steve rubs at his face. “I just – I hope I can help her one way or another. At least give her a how to manual or something.”

Tony snorts. “There’s no manual for dealing with grief. You of all people should know better.”

Steve’s eyes look bluer in the bright gym lighting as he searches Tony’s. 

It’s a bit of a straight forward comment, but there’s no beating around the bushes with it. Steve should stop acting like everything’s his fault. He’s no Atlas. The world is not _only_ his burden. It’s everyone’s –

Oh. Tony realised. _Oh. _Isn’t that what Steve used to tell Tony before?

“I have an idea.” He says, recollecting his digressing thoughts. Steve perks up, nodding for him to go on and Tony takes a deep breath, with it, grabbing onto what remaining faith he has in Steve – mostly his capability as a leader, as the Captain.

As for whom Steve himself is, Tony has no enough faith left for him; washed out years ago and that’s a pity but this is a new start. He vowed.

So, with that faith he has for Captain America, he lets some leak for Steve too. Allows him some, like a deposit of sort, and he hopes – god, he so hopes – Steve doesn’t fuck it up this time.

“We’ll group up.” Steve says, once Tony’s done. “Talk to Rhodey and we’ll see where to go from there.” He gives his words.

A promise; in that commanding voice of his which Tony almost despises that it took over since he _was _momentarily lost in that other side of him.

“I can stay longer today.” Tony suggests. It’s Sunday, but he can make it happen. “We can talk over after dinner maybe?”

Steve’s face falls. “I can’t today.” He winces. “Nat and I are heading for a recon. The Council called in late last night and we’ll be leaving before six. Sorry.”

“It’s ten minutes to six.” Tony points out, eyebrows climbing up because what the hell is Steve still doing, talking to him when he’s supposed to be running after the clock?

“Yeah, should probably go now.”

“You _should_.” Tony presses.

But Steve lingers on. Eyes flickering to Tony minutely while he goes about kicking the pile of rolled up tapes to the wall and returns to the bench to pick up his stuffs.

Tony watches him, a furrow growing between his eyes with every tick of the needle in his wrist watch. Steve should be rushing. He really should. But he isn’t.

It’s as if he doesn’t want to leave and his deliberate slowness ticks off the anxiety in Tony. It’s not as if Tony is a punctual man himself, Pepper has to deal with his ground breaking tardiness all the time, but still-

He taps, taps and _taps_ over the outside of his thigh. He keeps looking at the watch around his wrist and back at Steve and when he cannot take it anymore, he opens his mouth to hurry Steve on, only to be interrupted by him.

“I’m meeting Pepper tomorrow, for lunch.”

Tony closes his mouth and nods. This is their second meet-up, Pepper brought it up during their Friday dinner. “I know, have fun.” 

But Steve fidgets some more. “I – er – Thank you for – the truce – the leaf. The truce-leaf.”

He smiles, cheeks flushed bright pink and blue eyes twinkling as he regards Tony abashedly from beneath his long lashes.

Tony’s always been a gone man for that look on Steve. He feels that rush of emotion come through, poking at the gaps, ready to worm its way through to be on display for Steve.

He sucks his bottom lip in and a breath with it too, then carefully, he enunciates so Steve doesn’t miss the point. “Steve. It’s – five – to - six.”

Steve’s smile widens and he ducks his head to hide a laugh. “Am I making you anxious?” He asks, peering up at Tony once more, the empty water bottle he’s holding onto flinging front and back and it looks like school yard crush talk scenario in Tony’s head.

He tries hard to keep his muscles from flexing into a grin as well. “Yes, you are.” He confirms.

“Go.” He stresses when Steve keeps grinning at him like a loon.

“I still make you anxious.” Steve comments instead, full on beaming now, a fierce like wonder sparkling in his eyes and Tony fails. He fails horrendously.

It’s not even a tiny smile. He couldn’t control his facial muscles; they give. They stretch taught until his cheeks hurt from grinning _so_ wide.

“Go!” He tilts his head meaningfully towards the exit. Steve laughs again. But this time, he complies.

“Bye, Tony.”

Tony watches until he’s at the door frame and when he turns around to take a look at Tony one more time, Tony says, “Be safe.”

-

The next time he sees Steve, it’s not even Saturday and he got a cast on his right arm. 

Tony’s clad in a crumpled suit, dosed more in pheromones and sweat than his perfume with prickly stubble poking between his meticulously trimmed beard that desperately need a shave.

A shower too, going 28 hours without one.

“I specifically told you to _be safe.”_ He glares at him as he signs the cast ‘idiot’ in French. Because Tony’s classy like that.

“I’m fine, Tony. Thank you for asking.” Steve smiles at him, warm and solid, just a forearm length away from Tony and god, does that want hangs like a boulder on a thread, pulling.

Tony deliberately takes a step away from him, putting a safe distance in between them. Steve’s smile doesn’t falter a bit, neither does Tony’s glare.

Proximal communal fracture of right radius. Whatever Steve hit or got hit by, was no joke if it’s taking this long to heal.

Tony hates to think how bad it was before he went to the medic. Bad enough to postpone his lunch with Pepper. Speaking of –

“I had to hear it from Pepper.” Tony brings up, as casual as he can manage while he rolls up his tie and pockets it, seething – unsure at what especially but Steve’s delightful grin is begging to be the reason for it.

At least, now he’s starting to look a bit chastised.

“I don’t have your number.” He points out.

Tony scoffs. “You have access to all Avengers’ contact.”

“Not sure if I’m all-,”

“Next time.” Tony cuts him off primly. “Call me. Or text. Whichever that’s convenient.”

He doesn’t want to hear about the entire, _unworthy_ of contacting you excuse. He’s done being mad at Steve. He’d established that.

If there was any doubt with that, it only got verified when Pepper texted him last night once he was done with a meeting in London with the European stock holders.

Dropping the news as if it was a fun fact: _BTW, postponed today’s lunch with Steve cause he got injured on mission_. No details about the injury what-so-ever.

Tony clawed his brain out, waiting for Pepper’s reply while he immediately hopped on the jet back to New York; no second thoughts at all.

All there was, was a heavy cloud of worries and paranoia and the urge to see Steve. Right then, that second. With his three-piece suit and Armani dress shoes still on.

Once he saw Pepper’s reply ‘_Calm down. Just a broken arm’_, an hour after, it calmed him down a bit but still robbed him off of his sleep; sitting awake, gnawing at his thumbnail as he ran 101 scenarios about the ways Steve could have gotten injured – a blast where Natasha saved him by a second mark, which if it wasn’t for her, Steve would be –

Yeah. It wasn’t pleasant. Took him back to _before, _when he used to literally lose clumps of his hair worrying to death each time Steve left for one of his searches for Barnes.

“Shall we begin?” Rhodey clears his throat, already stood at the door leading to the Compound’s conference room, apparently for a very long time by the look he’s pinning Tony with.

Steve doesn’t even bother to sympathize Tony, merely walking towards Rhodey with his stupid smile and his stupid happy face. For a man with broken arm, it’s an over stretch.

Tony watches him go with a frown, but his relief is so much so that he sighs and sags with the motion once Steve slips past the door. Rhodey quirks an eyebrow at him.

“Don’t.” Tony says as he too, bypasses him.

He knows how this looks like to the rest of them: Tony running back into Steve’s arm like a fool in love. He may be, but it isn’t like he didn’t try, dammit.

Steve’s hurt. He just cannot fight it; is exhausted of fighting against it and sure, if that makes him a fool, then so be it. Christen him that way, go ahead.

He’s done. All he wants is to just… be, even if he’s not happy.

If he’s worried about Steve, he wants to worry without thinking about the implications and meanings behind it.

He just wants to be free of chains and cages and suffer the silence of his emptiness in peace.

“Did you break into SHIELD’s server?” Rhodey glares at him, looking even more threatening than he does when he’s just speaking casually with Tony.

Right this second, he’s Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes, the leader of the Avengers’ team.

“Nothing unusual,” Tony bats him off, hiding the fact that he’s intimidated by Rhodey behind a sloppy grin.

Steve ducks his head and Tony swears he can see the man laughing before he looks up, expression brilliantly composed as he frowns at the table, seated immediately next to Rhodey.

He’s probably thinking; _Now it’s your turn to keep this lunatic in line, buddy._

“If SHIELD brings this up to the council, I’m gonna sell you out,” Rhodey warns seriously, but Tony knows it’s an empty threat.

Besides, even if they call him in, he can save his arse; done that so many times, he’s an expert at it.

First question he’ll ask will be: “Can you proof that I did it?”

“That’s not the point here, grumpy bear. Point is, SHIELD has an eye for what Fury likes to dub; enhanced beings. I saw a large concentration of his red markers focused north east and I decided to investigate.” He’d thought about telling them about Monica and Carol, but decided against it.

It’s Monica’s wish to not step into the world yet. As for Carol, Tony feels like she’s more of Fury’s dirty secret. Let him launder her out and get the stink eyes himself.

So, he skips Monica and Carol and tells them all about the school for mutant run by Charles Xavier.

“Mutants?” Rhodey repeats, looking at Tony as if he’s cooking up some bullshit.

“I know right.” Tony beams at him.

He catches Steve’s impressed eyes and preens inwardly, carrying on with the details about their conditions, management and their contribution to society and the world by proxy.

“So, you think we should have Wanda go there?” Rhodey asks, sinking back into his chair, looking like he’s still reeling from all the new information, a frown etched in his face.

“Have them look at her.” Steve answers at the same time Tony says, “Not by herself of course.” As if Rhodey would even dare question that.

They look at each other again; Steve and Tony. Parting with a barely bitten smile, mindful of Rhodey.

Rhodey definitely catches it and to say the least, he’s not impressed. _Tony_ suffers his look, not Steve. Lucky bastard.

“Who’s going?” Rhodey asks them both.

Steve looks at Tony for answer while Tony at Steve.

“Jesus.” Rhodey grumbles under his breath and scrubs his face.

Steve flushes red while Tony pointedly keeps his eyes focused on Rhodey from then onwards.

Eventually, they decide on Rhodey, Natasha, Steve and Tony.

Tony has FRIDAY call a day for them since she knows his schedule better than himself and they agree on the following Thursday.

Long enough a time to propose the idea to Wanda and have her finalise the decision for them – which will be Steve’s job.

Rhodey corners Tony in the room, pointedly nodding at Steve, dismissing him wordlessly.

Steve gives a concerned look in Tony’s direction but Tony refuses to meet his eyes. Whatever it is, this is _Rhodey_.

It stirs something unpleasant within Tony – the part which is still trying to move on – when Steve directs his concern to Tony when it comes to Rhodey.

The vile part in him hisses, _it’s Steve whom Tony should be aware of_, but he shuts that down promptly. He wants to move on, he reminds himself.

“Are you sure of what you’re doing?” Rhodey asks him, once he’s sure Steve has walked far enough to defeat his super hearing.

“I recall you suggesting I move on.” Tony shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “This is me, moving on.”

Rhodey shoots him an unimpressed look. “I said, move on. Not get back in relationship with him. Does he even know about the reactor, Tony?”

The chair bounces forth with a loud creak. Tony grips onto the table’s edge to stabilize himself.

“We’re not – Who said – No. I didn’t get back in – It’s not like that.” He stammers, face heating up as Rhodey stares at him.

Why would Rhodey think that?

Scratch that. They’re not in a relationship. They were clear _with each other_ about that.

_I just want to move on for now. Can we just. Don’t ask me more?_

“Damn it, Tones.” Rhodey sighs, propping his elbows on the table and burying his face in it.

When he looks up, he’s smiling ruefully, not the smile that Tony wants to ever see on his face for him, _ever_.

It’s full of sympathy is what it is. It makes Tony want to lash out at him_; I don’t want your pity, Rhodey. Even if I’m that pathetic. _

But then, Rhodey opens his mouth and Tony listens with blood curdling chill – the same kind he had when T’Challa told him about his ability to see souls – that he’s not only addressing Tony, but Steve as well.

“You two just don’t know how to be anything else, do you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Tony rasps, throat dry and tongue heavy, sticking to the roof of his mouth.

Rhodey huffs out a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief and he scrubs his face once more, tilting his head back and when he opens his eyes again, the pitiful smile is gone, replaced by a flat look.

“Both of you flirt like it’s nothing.” He accuses, in that same tone he used to tell Tony, _don’t bullshit me_.

Tony feels his face burn. Do they? He – Well -

“Just -,” Rhodey rolls his eyes, pushing his chair to stand up. He pauses at the foot of the table, staring into Tony’s eyes.

“Remember what I told you about never ever wanting to see you hurt like that again, yeah?”

Tony tenses his muscles, keeping the shudder that wrecks his spine contained and he nods jerkily, jaw clenched tight and eyes serious.

“I know.”

Rhodey nods back, a sigh echoing his trail as he exits the room, leaving Tony alone, feeling stripped naked to the last inch of his skin.

_The reactor_, Tony recalls with a harrowing realisation. It’s not Steve’s fault.

All Steve ever did was give him a long horizontal burn mark across his chest. But the reactor was not – 

The reactor was, what Tony prefers to call, a medical necessity.

_“Your heart’s failing, Mr Stark.”_

A little modification. A synthetic heart-like function, but not entirely.

It’s a two in one technology. It powers him and enables power to his suit too. It’s his own invention, out of hurried desperation.

_“Three months in to stage four again and then …”_

Purely medical necessity, because his heart was failing anyway.

If it wasn’t for the shock of the event in Siberia that pulled the last chords of his heart’s function, something else would have. His drinking, his addictions, the way he threw his life away like it was nothing after barely three months recovering.

Something else would have. It’s not Steve’s –

It’s not.

But he knows what will happen the moment Steve finds out about it. Which is why he hasn’t told him yet.

He knows how much power that blue glow in his chest – now, and almost all the time, hidden behind his under-suit – holds over their tentative attempts to reconcile. He knows.

He knows, the instant Steve finds out, he’ll leave and – And, no.

Despite everything they’ve gone through, Tony despises to lose this fragile truce over the doomed frailty of his heart.

They’re just starting, for fuck’s sake.

And Steve, he’s never looked this relax since ever. All those smiles and the ways he looks at Tony – It’s – 

Tony doesn’t want to sacrifice them. _Refuses _to sacrifice them.

Them and his own peace of mind. The dull way his empty cage has once again started to ache, his own smile – _happiness._

That’s what they are.

Happy.

They’re happy. Even if all Tony wanted was to just _be_ in the beginning, but he realises now, after only three weeks since their truce, he actually is happy.

The sheer inability to hold back his smile and to grin too wide that his cheeks hurt; Steve’s blue eyes, the way they look at him like he knows what Tony’s playing at and Tony’s emptiness fucking _sings_.

That emptiness which has only known silence is now singing, and Tony – 

Fuck.

He rolls that thought in his mind, sitting in the forefront as he ponders over deciding to reveal, then slowly, he thinks of the right time to reveal.

He watches Steve pass a bowl of Japchae to Barnes on another Saturday night, his arm fully healed and Tony realises that there will never be a right time.

The realisation makes the spoon slip out of his grasp and clatter loudly, interrupting the quiet buzz of their team dinner. Tony apologizes, but Steve’s eyes linger on him, concerned.

Tony forces a smile out for him, revelling in the thought how less forceful and more natural it feels on his lips.

Steve smiles back frailly, eyes darting to the bowl of steamed eggs and back to Tony, his smile tighter as he goes back to eating.

It’s Korean tonight, courtesy of Natasha and surprisingly, Bucky – I have an extensive travel history – Barnes.

They’ve had Korean dishes back in the tower before too. At that time, it had only been Natasha; given her addiction to - of all the things – Korean dramas. Tony loved her steamed eggs the best then. Still does now.

And by the look of it, Steve hasn’t forgotten about that. Tony swallows a spoonful on Samgyetang feeling something flutter in his chest.

He tells the warmth that blooms within him is from the hot ginseng chicken soup and nothing else. But even he knows in that moment, that he’s lying to himself.

Wanda is the first one to leave the table; quietly excusing herself as she washes and dries her dirty dishes before bidding all of them a mumbled goodnight, shaky fingers gripping tightly onto the thick cardigan, wrapping it snuggly around her.

She leaves silence in her absence. Wilson clears his throat, latching onto a topic to bug Bruce with; Bruce who’s far too willing to indulge him.

Tony catches Natasha’s eyes fleeting away in shame, to what, he learns as he catches Barnes’ falling away from Bruce, then discreetly landing on Natasha before he too excuses himself from the table.

Tony watches him enter the kitchen, followed briefly by Natasha; they wash and rinse in silence. Then they too, leave with a murmured set of goodnights.

Rhodey, Sam and Bruce are next, leaving Tony helping Steve with piling leftovers into containers and doing the storing as well as the cleaning up.

“Does Barnes know?” He asks in the quiet. “About Nat, Bruce and their almost?”

Steve doesn’t look up from washing; bowls, plates and cutleries methodically. But he sighs, and he answers, “He should.”

“You don’t know,” Tony states, receiving another wet plate from him to towel-dry.

“I didn’t ask,” Steve confirms.

“Barnes’ smart.”

“Even if he knows by himself,” Steve says, “It won’t be the same. She should tell him.”

Tony gives the well of the bowl another wipe and puts it away, holding his hand out for the cutleries as he asks, “You think it’s different?”

Steve glances at him, passing him a handful of spoons and forks. Thank god for Korean night, there’re no knives.

“Builds trust.” He shrugs.

Tony hums, making a little rattle as he dries the cutleries. Then he puts them back in their holder and passes the now dampened cloth to Steve to rinse and dry out.

He waits patiently for him to finish through the motion, turns to Tony and he asks, holding Steve’s eyes.

“You think if we did that before, we could have avoided the fall out?”

Outside the cricket sings, it rained earlier, so the frogs croak in harmony to them. The temperature has been fluctuating from winter cold to deceptive summer heat on some days.

Today it’s wintery cold. The grasses have died, the trees look barren; only twigs and trunks remaining. They look sad.

Inside, it’s toasty. Warm, and autumnal spice linger around the compound air from what Tony has gathered, Wilson’s and Wanda’s common hobby of making candles.

A little more than a month and it’ll be Christmas. Next week, it’s Halloween. Tony started and stopped celebrating Halloween in MIT.

Christmas however, is a different case.

He has no plans for this year, never had a plan since the giant bunny disaster with Pepper – he couldn’t be bothered.

The last Christmas he celebrated; he has no memory of; it was in the recovery home.

The year before that and the year _before _that year, he hopes to never remember.

So, the last one that he actually wants to and can remember was the one with Steve; cuddled on the couch in front of a high-tech fireplace while sipping on the hot chocolate Steve made for them.

He’d woken up late that day, not as much sense of time as he has these days. Steve had woken up early, been to Christmas mass and prepared a small feast for brunch; just the two of them – he’d left the team and his one chance to experience their first Christmas at the compound to usher his irresponsible boyfriend into bed and spend a quiet Christmas day with him instead.

Marathoning bad Christmas movies when he could have had hearty meals instead of cheap pizzas and festivities, fun and games instead of sleep, quiet and cuddle with an older boyfriend.

This year, Tony thinks of snow, cottage and warmth.

He wonders if they were still together, would Steve leave the team for a getaway Christmas with Tony in Switzerland for a change.

“Don’t apologize.” He warns, when Steve opens his mouth.

Steve chuckles dryly, ducking his head before looking up.

“Yeah.” He admits. “I think – Yes. It would have helped.”

His eyes are extra bright under the kitchen light; like azure gemstone of sort.

Tony seeks them as he clutches to his own dignity as he puts it bravely in lane and asks, voice soft and faded, couldn’t get it out louder even if he tries, “Do you regret?”

“Yes.” Steve breathes.

His fingers twitch as if to grab onto Tony, but he doesn’t act on his instinct. That one line of muscle along his jaw twitches too as he clenches them brutally hard, Tony thinks his teeth probably ache under the force.

He also thinks he has a poorer impulse control compared to Steve, as he brings his own hand and brushes a thumb over the twitching muscle; carefully gentle.

Unaware when exactly they’ve closed all those spaces between them to come this near.

They stand like that for a while, listening to the crickets and frogs harmonizing in the back yard, breathing in cinnamon spiced air and basking in the toasty warmth from the heater blasting away the dipping temperature outside.

Steve doesn’t move a muscle, Tony does; just the one.

One thumb over that one twitching muscle; even if he aches to do more, the ache is wonderfully dull.

A heavy sort of weight sitting in his stomach and weighing down instead of plummeting to the bottom. It’s nice.

“I love you.” He tells Steve.

It doesn’t feel wrong when he says it. Liberating, relieving, like letting go of something he’d been clutching onto for so long.

Steve’s breath hitches and he exhales, “Tony...”

Tony cups his jaw one last time before he lets him go. “Can’t stop either.”

He turns his back to Steve, focusing on the dried dishes, pulling open the cabinets and he begins to arrange them back into their places, one by one.

When he reaches for the glasses, Steve lends his hand.

They work in silence until all the dishes are stored back, the counter’s wiped clean and with one last look at the kitchen, Steve offs the lights and they walk down the hallway to their respective rooms in the dark.

Tony says his goodnight first, neither lingering as Steve walks past to his own room and it’s – it’s probably nothing. Or it may have been everything.

Either way, Tony doesn’t regret a single thing he told Steve that day.

-

Wanda seeks Tony out after breakfast the next day. “Do you think it’ll help?”

She asks, looking out into the open as they stand side by side in the backyard, basking in the morning sun light, and Tony gathers Steve has proposed the idea to her.

“I don’t know.” He tells her honestly.

“Which is why we’re going with you to find out. If you want.” He stresses, because this is her decision; her life and her everything.

Tony wants to make sure she knows it’s in _her hands_.

“I just want it to stop.” She says, her dull eyes red-rimmed, now that Tony looks at her closely.

She looks like she’s been spending half a year bawling and only a fraction of that living.

“Sometimes, we have to rely on others to help us.” He tells her, clutching tightly onto his steaming mug of coffee as he follows her example and keeps his eyes trained far, far away into the clearing.

He wonders what she sees. He sees his old, battered self there; beaten, bloodied and broken.

“Doesn’t mean we’re weak. If anything, it only means we’re stronger. To realise that, admit to ourselves and ask for help.”

She’s quiet beside him for a long time. Her faithful cardigan wrapped tightly around her body as she holds herself tall.

Twenty, Tony thinks. She’s twenty, beautiful and incredibly powerful. But suffering has always never picked its victim; it hits whomever it wants and when it does, you break.

“It’s your choice.” He tells her.

“I’m scared.” She says.

“We’re with you.” He promises.

She says yes.

Tony spends the rest of the Sunday calling and arranging a visit to Xavier’s school.

Rhodey’s by his side when he calls Charles Xavier; a bald man in a wheelchair who smiles too much when he talks.

He gives the _heebie-jeebies_, according to Rhodey; “It’s the way he smiles. Like he knows something we don’t.”

“He’s telepathic.” Tony tells him.

Steve slides two cups of tea in their direction and Tony takes his with a smile.

“What’s the plan.” Steve asks, sliding into a chair opposite them.

The surrealism of the current situation is where they’re located; in the dining hall, laptop and phones propped on the table. Anyone can walk in.

They’ve invited Wanda to sit through the plan but she declines, opting to leave them to it. Sam followed her, Tony hopes they’re back making candles or something akin. He loathes to have her be alone in the state she is.

Point is, this is not a secret mission. Direct or not, everyone knows what’s happening, one way or another.

But the beauty of it is how they’re respectfully keeping clear from it.

Tony overheard Natasha planning a girls’ day out with Wanda on Tuesday before she leaves for a mission on Wednesday – a last minute favour call from Fury.

Wilson will be replacing her instead, following Rhodey, Steve and Tony to the visit the mutants on Thursday.

Tony hopes Wanda doesn’t mind, she seems to have a good equation going on with him besides Steve, even more than with Natasha.

This means, the compound will be hosting Bruce, Barnes and Natasha once she gets back from the mission, most likely Thursday night, if everything goes according to plans.

Tony isn’t sure how Barnes and Bruce’s relationship is, but surely they won’t explode the compound in, give or take, eight hours they’re left alone right.

“He said whenever -,”

“He also said, he was expecting us.” Rhodey gives a violent shudder.

Tony shrugs, “He’s telepathic, platypus. Extremely so. There’s only so much that he can help with.”

Rhodey still looks mildly disturbed, mumbling, “You keep telling me that.”

Tony isn’t all too trusting either but he’d read all about Charles, both personal and professional histories; one only need to know where to look.

He’d read about mutants and their variety of powers. He’d spent three nights at it. The most Tony had given was only one night and he could get a PhD in neuroscience for that hours of lost sleep.

“When are we meeting?” Steve asks, interrupting Tony’s thoughts, an array of arguments he’s having with his own blistering doubts from watching Rhodey react to Charles.

It’s comforting, to have someone trust his call - not that Rhodey doesn’t but he isn’t so willing either - a lot more than comforting to know that that someone is Steve Rogers for a change.

“Thursday. Like we planned.” Tony answers him.

“I’ll tell Wanda.” Steve decides.

Tony nods.

Rhodey gives another shudder into his tea.

-

He goes home to an empty tower.

Pepper’s out on a date. She usually will be around to welcome him home after his forced bonding weekend, but this time, Tony finds that he doesn’t miss her absence so much.

He also doesn’t miss the non-alcoholic champagne or the celebratory spread. It doesn’t feel a lot like a celebration when there’s nothing to celebrate anymore.

What used to be a survival thing has now become a habit.

What used to be dubbed as forced bonding – Tony realises with a calm clarity – is now simply a harmless get together, nothing forced there about it.

He takes a moment to sit with that thought, holding onto his mug of coffee as he stares into space and he smiles, a little smile just for himself – for how far he’d come from the broken man he once was.

How he had eased himself into his second chance (probably the last of the numerous second chances) at life.

How much of effort he had put into himself and how much of that, the universe is rewarding him for.

Moving on, he thinks, isn’t easy. But it’s very liberating.

That being said, he isn’t sure that they have, moved on. Or have they?

Is it really just the thought, the firm decision to put everything behind and walk away is all that counts?

If it is so, it should have been a laughably easy task to accomplish. But it hasn’t been has it?

It was so damned difficult to put behind all those toxicity swirling in his brain, flush it down and resolutely walk away without looking back. It was harder than giving up alcohol and drugs.

It was harder than forgiving Steve – which, oh!

He _has_ forgiven Steve, he realises.

Between this and that, he has forgiven Steve on his own term. Unpressured by the mountain of apologies Steve poured over him.

That little smile stretches even wider. It is such a peculiar thing.

He feels good, relieved but at the same time, he’s scared. There is an unexplainable fear lurking within him waiting for the other shoe to drop. And it will drop, he knows.

He also realises that_ he_ will be the one to drop that shoe, and that thought wipes that smile off of his face completely.

“How long will you be staying there?”

Pepper greets, the click-clack of her heels echoing through the workshop as Tony drills in the last screw and looks up, a grin already splitting his face in half even before she kisses his cheek for a proper hello.

“Glad to see you’re still alive in my absence, Miss Potts.” He teases her. “Is the boy toy behaving?”

Pepper rolls her eyes, walking towards the couch on the corner as Tony makes sure nothing is going to catch fire before following her.

She rids of her heels, sinks into the couch and puts up her feet on the coffee table, breathing a sigh of relief.

Tony props himself next to her feet, picks one up onto his lap and starts pressing his fingers along heel, thumbs circling, muscles settling easily into their old memory from the days when he used to woo Pepper with massages.

Now, he just does it because he loves her, and she looks like she needs it.

“Thank you,” Pepper murmurs, pinching at her nose bridge.

“Think if I buy all the stock and resell them to new, better idiots – Is that possible? Can I do that?” Tony muses aloud.

Pepper snorts, opening her eyes, a smile now dons her face and Tony thinks, mission accomplished – well, sort of.

“No, Tony. But thank you for that thought.”

“Maybe I should set Lee on fire.”

“Tony.”

“Baldy Brandon?”

“Tony.” She chuckles. “Tell me how long you’ll be away.”

Switching one foot for another, Tony hums, “Two days max? If everything goes well.”

Pepper jerks upright, pulling her feet off of his lap and onto the floor. So much for not-being-in-relationship stopping her from worrying like a mother hen.

“What do you mean_ if_ everything goes well? Is this not a safe trip? Are you fighting?”

“They’re mutants, Pep. I’m just being -,”

“Mutants!?” Pepper shrieks. “Tony, what the hell are you dealing with. What is t-,”

“Pep. Pepper darling -,”

“You can’t be doing this. Send someone else. You’re old and it’s too dang-”

“Old!? Now that’s just –,”

“Do you even know how to fight mutants? What if they spit fire??”

“Pepper!”

“What!?”

Oh wow, Tony realises.

A bubble of laughter bursts out of Tony and before they knew it, both of them are bent over laughing their heads off. Damn, has it been so long since they’ve bickered like this.

_Damn_.

“Explain.” Pepper sits back. Propping her foot back on Tony’s lap, finger dabbing carefully at the tears brimming her mascara donned eyes.

Tony giggles, clumsily wiping his own shed tears. Then he tells her everything about the plan, mincing where necessary, in respect of both Wanda and the team’s privacy.

Once Tony’s finished, Pepper’s hums thoughtfully, digesting the load with sips of boxed orange juice, courtesy of DUM-E’s evolved sense of hospitality.

“Steve’s going with you?”

“Rhodey and Wilson too.” Tony points out.

“Uh,huh.” Pepper smirks.

“What?”

“Oh. It’s nothing.” She bats it off.

But Tony yanks the drink from her and glares. “Pepper.

“Oh, for real, I’m just glad you both are working things out between you two.” She shrugs, her shoulder pads following her tiny gesture and amplifying it.

Tony frowns at the stolen orange juice in his hand. “You don’t think it’s a bad idea?”

“No. Why would I?” She asks, uncurling her feet which she had tucked them away under her thighs, so she can sit properly and regard Tony seriously.

“Did someone say that?”

“No.” Tony negates promptly.

“I mean. Rhodey isn’t too happy ‘bout it…,” He trails of, peering at her from under his lashes.

He hands her back the juice box. She takes it and puts it down on the table, next to him.

She seems to wait for his undivided attention, so Tony huffs and gives it to her.

“I was there when you returned from Siberia, Tony.” She starts, voice calmer than Tony had ever heard her recall that, say, even a year ago.

He nods. He feels himself calmer recalling it too.

“I don’t know what happened to you there, but I saw the ripple effect of that. It hurt. I was so mad. I hated Steve for you.” She pauses to breathe and Tony copies her, didn’t realise he’d been holding onto his as well.

“I tried to be there for you,” She says.

“But you alienated everyone. You pushed Rhodey away, you pushed me away and at some points, I didn’t even know if you were alive or -,” She stops, shaking her head, before continuing.

“You cut off all the connections, Tony. You disappeared. Even if you were in Cali, you wiped yourself off, in more ways than only physical. I cannot speak to you because you weren’t listening. It was hard.”

Tony shudders. She had never told him this. 

Had never revealed her hardship while trying to put up with his shit. He doesn’t know why now – how it fits with Steve, but he feels like he needed to listen to this.

And her, to let all those canned up bad shit stirred by Tony out of her as well.

“I’m telling you this, because you have to understand why I allowed what happened to happen.”

Tony frowns. “Allowed what?”

Pepper gnaws on her lower lip, uncaring of the perfect streak of maroon on it as she regards Tony guiltily.

“I knew Steve was following you, Tony. I know I should have stopped him the moment I found out – I did. I warned him off. But he was relentless and you kept vanishing off my radar and when I couldn’t reach you, he was the only one able to keep track of you. He pulled you out of some real sticky situations several times and selfishly – I hated him still. God, Tony. I didn’t talk to him or kept in contact with him – but I could sleep at night knowing he was watching over you. It’s so selfish, Tony. I know. I’m sorry. You can be mad at me, I just -,”

“I know that.” Tony interrupts. He’s not mad about Pepper. Never even thought he could ever be. “He told me.”

Pepper pulls a sharp breath in. Her blue eyes are now misty for wrong reasons.

“Did he also tell you why I let him in that night?”

Tony shakes his head.

Pepper nods, brushes a palm over he pressed skirt – a nervous habit on display, which is rare for Pepper – and looks up at Tony, eyes clearer. Brighter.

“The day you were overdosed.” She swallows. “He was the one who found you.” Tony freezes.

“If he hadn’t, Tony. You would – I -,” She stammers, shaking her head wordlessly. Tony ducks his own head in latent shame.

He gets what she means. He’d once thought that he will never apologize for what he did then, but now…

Silence seems to swallow them both for a while. The air heavy with more than the singe of metal and the smell of motor oil.

Tony’s hands shake, and he’s pretty sure Pepper’s too. They sit in that sinking heaviness, wallowing for a minute; letting the cloud fill out, let the stale past wash out.

“I felt,” Pepper breaks the silence. “- I could forgive him for that time he left you in Siberia. Maybe not wholly. But in a small way, it cancelled it out that day. I still hated him, but I also remember starting to forgive him.”

She takes another sharp inhale, struggling and Tony looks up at her once again, if only to make sure she’s not breaking.

She’s not. She’s smiling.

But it’s wet. Her mascara doesn’t even smudge. She’s blotchy, but still pretty as she cries. Tony can only love her more for staying.

For _everything_, to be honest.

“He was – It was awful, Tony.” She recalls steadily. “He was distraught. I’ve never seen him like that. It was _awful._”

Tony sighs, breaking their eye contact. He picks up the juice box and fiddles with it for a while; turning it around and around until his haywire thoughts fall into places.

When they do, he smiles at her and offer the juice box to her again.

She smiles back and takes it. He’d offer her tissue, but that’s not within reach.

Fortunately for him, DUM-E has mastered tact and drops a pack onto her lap. She laughs and pats him on the claw. He purrs.

“So, you let him in.” Tony states.

Once Pepper’s done wiping her tears away, mustering her ‘look’ back; all prim, proper and deadly again.

She searches his eyes and nods. “So, I let him in.”

Then, slurping the last of the orange juice loudly, she sighs, “He’s into role play.”

Tony takes the olive branch gladly, snorting out a laugh full of faux humour just so they can move on from all the grave sombreness to a lighter mood.

“Pretty sure, no one can hold the candle for surprising you after me, Miss Potts.”

Pepper glares, chucking the empty juice box at his face with a desolate groan.

Thursday cannot arrive any sooner. One moment, Tony’s submitting the latest revised beta prototype to R&D and next, it is six in Thursday morning.

“Shit.” He cusses under his breath. “Don’t think I can fit some sleep in now, can I?”

“I’m afraid you can’t, boss.” FRIDAY chimes in apologetically. “You can however, afford two hours shut-eye on flight.”

Tony gives her a wan smile, cleaning up the last clutter of mess on his work table. He’d gotten used to her now.

Unlike earlier, when the loss of JARVIS was still fresh in his turbulent mind, this time around, her presence feels more permanent.

She no longer feels like a temporary fill-in for when one day he’ll find the courage to recode JARVIS – which he absolutely can.

But he’d learnt to accept the loss; learnt to move on. FRIDAY is his _now_.

He _can_ recode JARVIS, but he chooses not to. FRIDAY will stay; his incredibly sassy and intelligent baby girl.

“Thank you, darling.”

“You’re most welcome, boss.”

The plan is, Tony will meet Rhodey, Wilson, Steve and Wanda at the compound around eight. From there, they’ll board the Avenger’s Quinjet to Xavier’s school.

Charles is expecting them there for brunch. There’ll be some introductions, orientations and if all things go well, they’ll discuss boarding, probably stay the night and be back by the next noon. If they’re not interested, they won’t be overstaying their welcome. They’ll be back before the day ends.

Honestly, Tony’s hoping for former, if only for Wanda’s sake.

She needs help; she’s _asking _for help.

Tony remembers asking for one not too long ago. He’d received his help and he’s really fucking grateful for it. He only wishes the same can be said for Wanda.

She’s not finding any among them, not to insinuate that they’re not trying, because they are. But it’s not enough.

Pepper and Rhodey had tried for Tony once, it hadn’t been enough. He’d found what he needed far away from them.

Maybe the same thing will work for Wanda.

Steve hands a tumbler to Tony the moment he walks into the kitchen. They’ve cleaned the platter, breakfast all tucked away and done.

Tony’s tummy rumbles pitifully at the sight of Wilson toppling over a freshly washed fry pan.

“Catch.” Steve calls from the kitchen counter, Tony turning in time to see a hefty paper bag coming hot for his head.

He startles but reflexively catches it before it hits him square in the face.

Someone wolf-whistles - Tony gathers it’s Wilson - since only him and Steve are there beside Tony. Opening the bag, Tony directs a glare at Steve who winces out a soft apology.

Sandwich.

Tony pops one triangle into his mouth - leaving the other for later - now eager to find what’s in the tumbler he’d been handed out earlier.

Coffee! Nice. Really nice.

“Don’t expect brownie points.” He mumbles around stuffed mouth walking towards the counter.

Steve chuckles, chucking the kitchen towel to a corner while Wilson walks away, whistling Marvin Gaye as loud as he can at the barren morning.

“Get original!” Tony yells after him.

To Steve, he swallows the last mouthful of ham and cheese sandwich with hot coffee and wishes, “Good morning.”

Steve smiles, bright and sunshine-y. “Good morning, Tony.”

“Urgh,” Someone groans and Tony turns to see Rhodey walking in with a duffel bag flung over his shoulder.

Wilson and Wanda are on his tail, both wearing an identical smirk. Tony feels the impulse to kiss Steve just to aggravate Rhodey, but then he realises with shuddering chills down his spine, just what he had thought about; so easily, without any repulsion.

Then he realises that he’s still not against the thought. The impulse surprised him, but that is all there is to it. No – No objections or horror –

“Tones!”

“Huh?” He jerks, almost dropping the open tumbler with its scalding hot content all over himself.

“What?” He asks, slightly jumpy.

Rhodey fixes him with a pair of worried eyes. “I asked if you’re ready. We’re boarding if -,”

“I’m _born_ ready, Rhodey-O.” He walks briskly past them to where the Quinjet is parked.

Wilson cackles behind him, without even bothering to muffle it. Tony can _feel _Steve’s worried gaze burning his back.

He ignores both resolutely.

“Did you even sleep?” Rhodey starts on him.

Tony starts defending himself and they bicker their way into the Quinjet, Tony nodding off mid argument as soon as the jet is air-bound.

The cheeriness from the morning has completely vanished by the time they land in front of the Xaiver’s school.

It’s a large property, equipped with a landing pad, a vibrant lawn which is a strange feat around this time of the year.

A couple of buildings; one which is obviously used for teaching by the flocks of kids running around and another separated one that is more secluded in the background.

Tony has an inkling, that’s where they’re headed to.

Charles Xavier is not much different from the man they video called. His piercing blue eyes are intelligent as he regards each one of his guests, lingering on Wanda the longest.

He introduces someone named Jean Grey and Hank McCoy; one a red-haired female who reminded Tony of… well, Wanda, except more matured and wiser.

The other, the man is a very blue, hairy… well, gentle giant; speaks Tony’s language too. Tony hates to pick a favourite but he’s already leaning towards McCoy over there.

They have a simple introduction to mutants and their survival among the rest of the world. Nothing Tony didn’t already know, but he listens. It’s better to hear from their perspective than to read off of an article in internet.

He takes a moment to observe the rest of his team’s reaction; Rhodey is on guard, but is steadily loosening. Wilson seems to share his emotion.

Steve is intent, but Tony knows that behind that careful blankness is fear, if they were going to disappoint Wanda this time around too.

Wanda, she surprises Tony the most. Tony noticed how she was bristling with nerves, her power sparkled in invisibility as they climbed down the jet. But after meeting their host, she has distinctly calmed down.

She’s not outright bursting with joy, but her anxiety had seemed to have seeped out. She’s calmer.

Tony doesn’t know exactly what contributed to that, but he hopes it’s good because it’s helping her.

“If it’s alright, may I speak with Wanda alone?” Miss Grey asks, sharp eyes focused solely on Wanda.

From Rhodey to Tony, everyone looks at Wanda for answer. She will later tell them how much she appreciated that gesture - them, collectively putting her faith in her own hand and letting her decide for herself rather than forcing one on behalf of her, in the name of looking out for her - that level of trust.

As for now, she smiles at them and nods, following Miss Grey while Tony and the rest look nervously among them.

It’s not that they don’t trust Wanda to look after herself, it’s just, Wanda’s _theirs_, and sometimes, it’s hard to let go.

Even if she’s not as close with Tony as Peter is, he feels for her what he feels for Peter, all the same.

Left alone with Charles and McCoy, both men offer a tour around their lab while waiting for Wanda and Miss Grey to return.

Tony fiddles all the way until they enter the lab, then, he is mostly just curious. McCoy is nice enough to let Tony wander around the lab by himself, as long as he asks McCoy before he does anything; general lab rules, Tony’s no stranger to them.

As for Rhodey, Wilson and Steve, Charles keeps them huddled in one corner with his stories.

When Wanda returns, she has a frown on her face, but it vanishes as soon as she spots them.

She’s mildly more withdrawn than she has been in the morning, throughout their lunch, visiting the school, more introductions – this time between his people and Tony’s people - and Charles offering them rooms to bunk in for the night.

Tony wonders what’s she’s thinking; he’s sure she’ll share when and if she wants to, but still, he wonders.

This has been his idea after all. He’ll like to know as soon as possible if he had fucked everything up for her.

He waits until after dinner to seek her out. She’s by the largest tree in the compound’s lawn.

It’s miraculously warm outside, Tony wonders if one of the mutants is responsible for the climate around here.

He offers her a mug of tea to announce his presence. She accepts it without really looking at him.

The night sky is a clear darkest shade of blue. Stars sprinkle all over it like spots of white paints on a black canvas. Even the breeze is warm on their skin like late summer evenings.

They bask in the feel of it, breathing it in, breathing out the cold of late august surrounding their own compound back home.

“They’re very nice.” She says, breaking their silence with a soft murmur.

Tony breathes out, lets her have her own moment, he’ll just be a fly on the wall as for now.

“Jean, she – She showed me what she can do. Worse than my own -,” She pauses, shakes her head and begins again.

“I thought, among all of you; who create and save, I thought I was the only destructive variant. Then I met Viz; born out of the same stone. He understood me, in ways only he could. He loved me and I, I loved him too.”

She sucks in a breath. “Then I lost him, and… I was alone again; the only destructive variant among the saviours.” She smiles wetly.

“Careful there, Bruce may take offends.” Tony jokes dryly.

She turns to look at him then. Red rimmed eyes – ever present these days that their absence will be a shock for all of them – a small furrow between them and in that moment, she scarily looks wiser - like Jean Grey; Tony’s brain supplies - as she studies Tony.

It’s a long time standing under her scrutiny, keeping himself from running far away from the town because the weight of it, while heavy, is also unsettling.

Not power or magic trick, only mundane mortal humanly, weighted gaze, seeking for answers.

Tony stands, letting her see him; look in him for what she wants to see, and when she’s done, she says, “Thank you, Tony.”

Wanda retires early; Wilson and Rhodey choosing to hang out with Scott Summers and his boisterous gang at the lounge; beers, cards and whatever else.

Tony walks inside to find Steve waiting for him. “Is she okay?” He asks.

“Didn’t you ask her?”

Steve shakes his head.

Tony bypasses him to wash his own mug and topple it over the drying rack.

“She’s fine. She’s turning in early. I think I’m gonna follow her plan too.”

Behind him, Steve hums in acknowledgement.

Tony wipes his hands, takes another look at the circle of merry men in the next room; notes Wilson and Rhodey among them, and walks in the other direction.

Steve doesn’t follow.

-

Tony’s fully intending to sleep when he reaches the room he’s been given for the night.

He takes a shower, puts on the pair of cosy socks he carries when he travels, wraps himself around the softest blanket which, he also travels with.

Pops in two melatonin gummies as well; all because while Tony has trouble sleeping in general, he has even more trouble sleeping in strangers’ place.

Kinda sucks, since 30% of his job involves travelling. He never rests during these times, usually.

But tonight, after two whole nights of going without sleep and a broken nap in the Quinjet earlier, he’s extremely worn down.

He can’t even keep his eyes open or stand for any of that matter.

With all that, he really should’ve been knocked down the moment his body touches the mattress, but what happens is, the ceiling lights up with a circular blue glow in the otherwise dark room; his half-closed eyes catch that light and he’s wide awake in an instant despite his protesting body.

It’s not even a bright glow, it’s dull, muted by the blanket he’s wrapped around in, but it’s still there and it brings forth a rush of memories from the back of his head; Rhodey calling out on Tony for hiding about it to Steve, Steve telling how Nat should tell Barnes about Bruce because it builds trust, Pepper recounting the mess they’ve been through all while Tony sat there and found out for the first time that Steve had been around it all.

_I love you_, he had said. _Can’t stop either._

Steve.

Ultimately, everything about Tony comes back to him.

What would have once been a bitter realisation, is now an acceptable one. Tony has realised, he knows and continues to learn that the two of them revolve around each other come high or tide.

There’s no definite beginning or endings for their fucked-up equation; Tony is also tired of trying to figure them out.

He’s resolved to acceptance and with that acceptance comes a different kind of liberation too.

This one eased the ache in his chest, coaxed the stillness and silence to break into a humming lullaby, almost puts Tony to ominous sort of ease; accepting he loves Steve makes it hurt lesser to love him; if that makes any sense at all.

Tony tosses and turns, hoping blinding himself from the blow glow will help. But darn it. He forgets the blue glow follows him everywhere now. It makes him laugh.

Like Steve, he thinks to himself.

Ah, the parallels he can draw between Steve and the technology living in his chest. 

_I could see the souls residing in people’s heart. I’ve seen many since, but the brightest is the Captains and the darkest is, fittingly, yours._

Does it glow as bright as the reactor does in Tony’s chest? Where, while inside, it’s pitch black, outside, Tony burns bright?

Does Steve do too, inside?

A match, was it? His perfect counterpart.

There are so many ways to decipher that. So many ways Tony can pick and knit everything they’ve been through in their respective life and align it so it begins with them and ends also, with them.

But at the same time, there are also countless possibilities accounting for and to where, even if it does begin with them, it _doesn’t _have to end with them.

With that thought, Tony slips into a deep slumber.

Blue glow on the wall be damned, he’s so exhausted he feels all the chips falling out of his brain.

In retrospect, he should have taken a second to push all those thoughts away before he closed his eyes.

_A dinner table, a candle lit in the centre. A tall vase filled with fresh flowers. Steve standing near one chair, a full blown grin on his face; he’d cleaned up well, Tony’s favourite navy dress shirt and dress pants. He’d cooked too. _

_There’s a small box on the table. Everything else is black as if they’re afloat in space. _

_Tony sees all these from the first-person point of view. _

_Steve pulling out a chair, the smile falling instantly and the box is there still, growing and growing until it replaces the table and Steve’s suddenly mad. _

_He’s very angry. _

_He’s no longer in blue shirt, but blue uniform and cowl and shield; he’s Captain America and Tony’s watching with inappropriate lack of panic as the shield comes down on him and this time he sees blood splatter across the shield, the tears that stream down Steve’s face as he howls and the perspective shifts. _

_He’s no longer the one beneath Steve but he’s on the side line, a separated entity watching Steve scoop his body onto his lap and loses himself in grieve. _

_Then he’s falling and falling and it’s loud, shrill laughter, echoes of obnoxious music. A party, the chandelier overhead tells him it’s his mansion in California. _

_He sees the havoc that ensues, a glimpse blonde head outside the sliding door and a punch to his jaw, more chaos, and then the hospital. _

_Then, Steve, once again. _

_This time with wilted golden leave in his hand and he’s on his bed, free hand reaching for the drawer on his right side and Tony doesn’t want to look. _

_He tries to close his eyes, but the drawer opens and there it was, the small box from the dinner table inside it. _

_The wilted leave placed neatly next to it and Tony chokes on his breath, he coughs and he can’t breathe, he –_

He startles awake.

It wasn’t even a flawless recollection; it’s a mess of memories jumbled up with sharp jolts of emotions. Variety of them; from then and from now.

It takes Tony’s breath away, weaves a clumsy lump of weight that wraps around him and squeeze until he’d startled awake.

Now that weave of freight train is shovelling him inside out.

There’s a desperate urge to go seek Steve. To look at him, see him with his own two eyes because –

Because –

Tony takes a shuddering inhale, shoving away the blanket, feet padding clumsily as he pries open the door, exiting himself into the dark hallway. It’s darker than when he’d last seen it, but none of that matter.

There’s a single goal in his mind; a definite mission. To find Steve and he comes close to it, socked feet stopping right in front of the closed door leading to the room Steve had been assigned to.

He pauses, shaky fist hovering mid-air, inches away from the wooden door, heart still thundering in his chest, his throat aches, his eyes are wet, his neck feels clammy and he shudders when a cold drop of sweat slides down his spine, jolting him back to his senses.

He stops, suddenly so unsure of himself as reality begins sinking in, questions start swirling, doubts - now that the panic has resided leaving shock in its aftermath.

He stands there, stupidly. Wondering what he’s doing, what he wants to do and all but never once does he think about going back to his room.

He can’t. He wants to see Steve - needs to.

He just – 

He _has_ to.

Breathing in, he knocks the door twice, forcing his fist down before he starts slamming the wood until it opens.

He waits with bated breath, what only takes a few seconds feels like decades as he stands, rocking on the balls of his feet, sweat sticking to his skin, his breathing picks up again, his heart never really stopped sprinting –

“Tony?”

“Steve.” He sighs, sagging in pure relief.

His voice cracks and his lips tremble but he never notices all these, too enraptured by the sight of Steve in front of him, whole and unharmed. No tears, no –

“What happened?” Steve asks, concern coupled with alertness shadowing his sharp eyes as he pulls Tony immediately behind him and starts scanning the hallway.

“Are you okay? Did someone tried to -,”

“I’m fine.” Tony croaks, coughing and wincing as he inhales again.

He runs trembling fingers through his hair, trying to push back the few strands that keep falling into his eyes but he’s shaking so much that it’s pathetically futile.

He huffs – can’t even get properly frustrated in the state he is.

Steve turns around, those piercing blue eyes studying him from head to toe before they zero in on his chest. “Are you sure -,”

“Bad dream,” Tony answers before Steve begins speculating.

“I just -,” _I wanted to see you. Needed to know if you’re _– What, exactly? He doesn’t know.

He stops. Shifty eyes finally focusing on Steve, and he realises Steve’s not looking at his face.

He follows his gaze to where the arc reactor glows bright blue in his chest and for a second, Tony’s too caught in marvelling the way that glow reflects on Steve’s own blue that he forgets Steve hasn’t seen the reactor for a long, long time.

Those two blues haven’t really collided since way before Ultron now, have they?

He _forgot._

He forgot that he’s in socks, otherwise bare feet, with a stupid pajama pants and a threadbare t-shirt without his undershirt on. Fuck. He forgot.

“Steve.”

Steve’s eyes snap up; confusion, concern, but mostly confusion.

Words failing, Tony closes his parted mouth and wraps his shaky hand around warm wrist, giving it a tug.

He pulls Steve with him as Steve gives, tumbling slightly into his designated room, while the man himself follows him dumbly.

“Close the door, please.” He murmurs, and Steve does, eyes still not leaving Tony; darting between his face and the reactor in his chest.

Tony thinks about stalling, asking for maybe, a cup of tea, before he opens the can of worm.

But he barely gets Steve to the couch before the man stops following; and tugging a super soldier against his will is like pulling at a brick wall. Tony lets go.

There’s a long pause before Steve asks hoarsely, “Is that -,”

“Yes.” Tony breathes, one hand going instinctively to palm the reactor.

“Yes.” He repeats, louder.

Steve exhales like he’s been punched. His gaze dropping to the ground, hands curling into fists by his sides and Tony can see them shaking.

Takes him back to the workshop in the compound when Steve told him how he’s still in love with Tony.

“Ho – Did – I – urm, Since whe -,” He stammers then stops abruptly to swallow, the click of his throat audible in the silence of the room.

“Steve.” Tony coaxes him. He doesn’t know what to say exactly but he just – 

Fuck. This is so not how he imagined telling about the reactor to Steve. This is so not –

Breathing in deeply, Tony clenches both his fists and his jaw.

Dream however he wants about breaking the news, reality will always going to suck when the time comes. There’s nothing he can do to help if he crumbles now.

He has to face it; this is his battlefield and as damned as it may be, Tony is going to win it.

“After the fight,” He starts.

Steve startles at his voice, then freezes, eerily statue like. Tony takes another breath and carries on; they both know which fight he’s talking about.

“They did a few tests while patching me up. Found out that I had two attacks in the span of less than 24 hours -,”

Steve’s head whips up in surprise. Tony shrugs and continues.

“One approximately dated to when we were in Germany; whether before, during or after the battle, I don’t know – didn’t really care to pinpoint the time then. The second one, I felt it, in the bunker.”

It’s Tony’s turn to appreciate the floor now. He taps incessantly over the reactor, not even aware he’s doing it. Digging his nails into his palms, he tries valiantly for a smile, focused on Steve’s bare feet.

One part of his mind supplies him with all the memories he has of Steve with his bare feet; both appropriate and incredibly inappropriate.

He anchors himself to them, letting his tongue and mouth work on their own, recounting in details – as detailed as Tony remembers – to Steve.

“The verdict then, was heart failure stage four. Stage three after some medication but the prognosis was bad, given a few more months, it was going to go back to stage four and I – I didn’t want to die.”

Tony looks up then, begging Steve to understand his longing _for life_.

Even if he proceeded to throw it away right after saving it, he needed Steve to know that _before _that, under imminent threat, he had wanted to live.

He doesn’t know why Steve has to know, but Steve _has _to know. It’s not like Steve will judge, but right then, he just – he felt the need to make Steve understand.

That he may be reckless, he may willingly put himself in danger’s line. He may be passively suicidal, but he isn’t that bad when he’d had tried to survive once, right?

Right?

“Tony.” Steve croaks. He’s still shaking, Tony notes. Problem is, they both are.

“God.” Tony sighs, scrubbing his face with his trembling hands.

This is so fucked up. Literally the worst timing ever. If Tony hadn’t been already in shock from the nightmare, he’s willing to bet that he’d fare better now.

He would at least not have to deal with the aftermath of a panic attack; no sweating, no shaking, no tachycardia.

But there he is, stripped bare and in turn, he’s stripping Steve as bare as well; quickly looking like he’s going to break him and that is why.

That is exactly why Tony wishes he would have had a better hold of himself because then, at least he’ll be able to break Steve’s fall. He’ll be able to _catch_.

But with the way he is right now_, unstable_ as he is right now, he cannot even break his own fall if he’s to fall, so how can he try to catch Steve in the process? He can’t. He really can’t.

He’s fragile and vulnerable; Steve’s fragile and vulnerable too. They’re a pair of disaster waiting to happen.

But Tony has started it, and he has to get this over with; bloody, bruised, broken or not.

“It’s not your fault.” He clarifies, palming the reactor still, hoping the blue will be contained.

For all those times he’d missed how its glow looked on Steve, he now wishes it’ll stop spilling on him.

“How can you – I _beat you up_ -,”

“I beat you up as well in case -,”

“- and you had a heart attack. I was -,”

“- you forgot.”

“This is _my _fault, Tony!” Steve yells, shutting Tony up.

“_My _fault.” He repeats, quieter, firmer.

Convicted.

Livid, Tony shoves at his chest. “This is why.” He hisses.

Steve being Steve doesn’t move a millimetre, but Tony gives another push, feeling cool satisfaction washing down when Steve stumbles back. Even if it’s an act, it feels good.

“This is why I didn’t tell you.”

“Were you _ever_ going to tell me?” Steve catches his wrists, tugging him close until their noses meet.

He looks as pissed as Tony feels. “Are there anything else you’re hiding from me because you didn’t want me to feel bad, Tony? _Are there_?”

“It’s not your fault, you idiot.” Tony gives a harsh shake, yanking fruitlessly at his hands, locked in Steve’s steel-grip.

“Stop blaming yourself for everything. Stop -,”

“What are you not telling me, Tony?”

Steve stops him, both his struggling hands and his deliberate digression. Testament for how well Steve knows him; like the back of his own hand.

There’s a quiet firmness in the way he asks the question, giving no space for Tony’s bullshit.

“Tell me.” It’s a command.

Breathing harshly, Tony takes a step away from him. Brown eyes wild as he demands, “Let go.”

Steve does, as if burned.

The fire in Tony dies a little at that. He closes his eyes, pulling in a deep breath before fisting around the hem of his threadbare shirt and yanking it up.

Once off, he finds Steve’s eyes, desperately reading through each flitting emotion behind those stunned blue.

Steve lifts one hand up, reaching for Tony’s chest dazedly before catching himself and promptly clenching it into fist, letting it drop to his side again.

He closes his eyes and when he opens them back, the shock is completely wiped out, replaced by painful resignation.

“I did that.” He states, not a question, just a matter of fact.

Tony doesn’t mince. “The scar. Yes. You did that.” He agrees stiffly.

“Second degree burn. The reactor? That was just failing physiology. Heart attack.”

Steve’s chuckles darkly, exhausted eyes fleeting up to Tony, finally looking away from the damage he’d inflicted on him.

“Stop protecting me from myself, Tony.” He tells him.

Exasperated fondness so familiar in the way he says it, but the heavy tinge of darkness there… that makes it a distinct stranger to his ears.

Tony shakes his head, stepping back into Steve’s space, shirt falling where he stood.

Steve takes a skittish step away, back meeting the wall.

Tony swallows, determination flaring as he corners and pulls Steve - the bulk of a man, taller, bigger than him - until he’s curled around Tony.

Both their knees buckling, sending them sliding down the wall and Steve shakes – 

Jesus – he shakes _so _hard, that Tony feels himself breaking all over again.

Which is impossible; he has nothing left in him to break. He’s caging emptiness within him but god, _fuck_, does it hurt.

Fuck –

“Steve.” He pleads, voice thick with tears, tucking Steve’s head under his chin. He’s hyperventilating. “Fuck.”

Tony feels his own panic trying to break out, but he pushes it down, focusing on the man he’s holding onto instead.

“Steve, breathe.” He tells shakily, rubbing his back soothingly.

“Listen, Steve, honey, follow my count okay? Steve?” When he feels a nod against his neck, he begins the count.

Methodically, ordering Steve to follow his example, as he pulls one large hand to palm his own chest and he goes through the count over and over until Steve’s shudders and his breathing eases down.

Not all too smoothly but, good enough for the time.

“God.” Tony breathes into damp blonde hair.

He’d never – this had – God.

This is Steve. Steve Rogers. Captain America. God, he’s never – Steve had _never_. 

“What have I done to you?” He asks, more to himself.

Cheek pressed against Steve’s skull, arms winding tightly around him, clutching onto him while Steve whimpers faintly, dry sobs, breaking out now and then.

His own arms are curled tightly around Tony; face pressed into Tony’s throat with his palm still clutching onto the reactor in Tony’s chest.

“I’m sorry.” He keeps mumbling. Over and over. Even as Tony hushes him. Tells him it’s not his fault dammit.

But Steve is not listening.

Steve who had always stood rock still even when his entire world collapsed around him.

Steve who endured the pain of broken ice and cold ocean so he could save the world.

Steve who put his life on the line, throwing himself at death but death turned against him; death cheated him, pushed him away seven decades to the future where everyone and everything he once knew had been gone.

Death and life, colliding, making a mess out of his life; laughed while he stumbled and fell and stood up, but they kept pushing him again.

_Tony_, kept pushing him again and again. Just because Steve stood up every time didn’t mean he deserved to be pushed over and over –

Shit.

“I broke you.” Tony pries away, tilting Steve’s head up, hands cupping clenched jaw as he thumbs at the fallen tears.

“Fuck, I broke you. I broke you.”

He did. He so did, didn’t he? Shit. Just – Shit.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so, so, sorry.” He sobs, forehead meeting Steve’s own as he cradles his face.

Is he happy now?

He pushed Steve so hard for so long, he’s finally seeing how Steve looks, broken; is he happy now?

The arm around his body winds tighter, pulling him closer. Hot breaths circulate around them; hushed and stuttering.

It’s cold but at the same time, Tony’s warm. He lets his head fall over Steve’s strong shoulder, breathing him in lungsful.

“It’s not your fault, Steve. I swear it’s not.”

“I hurt you.” Steve argues, his own face tucked into Tony’s bare shoulder, painting a cold, wet trail down the crook of his neck.

“I hurt you too.” Tony points out, mouthing up his neck.

Steve shakes his head but Tony shushes him - clutches onto him as tightly as he possibly can.

He feels awful all over, worse than when he’d tasted death minutes from licking him up whole.

Worse than when he’d seen the trail of Steve’s back, leaving him in the cold of Siberia.

Worse, way, _way worse_.

He can’t believe he did this.

Break the one person he’d never imagined will even crack; and he really – He didn’t really think through it. This is not – He didn’t want this – He – This is a mistake. So wrong – Very, very wrong. God.

What _has_ he done? A lifetime of apologies will never cover this damage. His penance – He isn’t even sure if he can have retribution.

With guilt and regret flogging most of his thoughts, he cradles Steve’s head to his naked chest, uncaring of the dampness Steve leaves behind. Not as long as he lets Tony hold him, Tony could give shit about the mess.

The clock on the bedside table reads four past two in the morning.

Tony rocks them back and forth, with what strength he still has in his bones, feels Steve’s breaths and heartbeats completely even out and his own with them, and he asks faintly when he can feel his tongue again, and move it;

“Can you stand up?”

Steve takes a wet inhale and pries himself away from Tony in answer.

His arm slips away from around his torso minutely until Tony stubbornly grabs hold of his hand and hoists himself up as well.

He meets red rimmed blue eyes steadily, curling his fingers tighter around larger hand and without a single word, he tugs, waiting for Steve to take a step forth when he doesn’t follow.

When he does, Tony spins around on his heel and pulls Steve to his barren bed. Crumpled sheet waits, promising some level of comfort.

Steve stops at the foot of the bed, once Tony’s seated on its edge.

His eyes suddenly wild and unsure when he sees where Tony has brought them to, they look up in horror at Tony.

Tony stands up, cupping his neck, leaning into him until they’re both breathing the same air.

One hand high on Steve’s hip, he guides him until they’re both sitting sideways on the mattress.

When Steve starts shaking again, fingers digging into Tony’s skin where they rest over his naked side, Tony presses his mouth over Steve’s ear.

“It’s okay.” He tells him. “Lie down with me.”

The night is still young, the room is oddly cold compared to the warmth of this strange compound.

But in Tony’s arms, Steve’s like the sun; hot pocket of air surrounding him liken plasma, burning fire wherever Tony touches him.

His heat embraces them both, Tony with his shirt off and his back cold but his front warmed from the inch separating him from Steve.

It’s like diving back into fond memories, the one with the _details_ you’ve forgotten, like putting on that favourite piece of shirt and feeling that familiar pattern of embroidery where your hand always reaches habitually for (and until then you don’t realise that this roughness was what your skin sought to feel every time it brushed the other fabrics that had sat on your body).

Like _coming home._

Touching Steve, feeling his too hot skin, feeling his warmer than usual air puffing out with every exhale, feeling the lines of his body, the weight of him dipping the shared mattress; everything about him is like coming home for Tony.

They sit right; exactly where they’re supposed to belong.

Feels as if all these years Tony had been tipped wrongly on the plane (from the moment Steve walked away from him, inch by toppling inch off the gradient) and now, right now, being where he is, feeling Steve under his own skin; he feels righted.

Like a stray puzzle piece finally sliding back where it belongs.

“How’re you feeling?” He asks quietly.

Steve’s eyes are still red rimmed, but they’re no longer wet, the furrow in between them has left as well but, Tony keeps brushing a thumb over one of his eyebrows, just in case.

It’s an eerily silent night. Perhaps the eeriness comes from the lack of their screaming tension that predominated earlier.

Whichever the case is, it feels illicit to speak louder than the sound of their combined breathing.

Tony drags his body closer until their chests touch; bare skin against warm fabric.

Their noses brush and the air is hot when he breathes in, recycled between them as if they’re running short of oxygen, but god, he misses being _this _close to Steve – _Steve_ – that he doesn’t even fucking care.

He _likes_ it.

He can think about how wrong this is later, scold himself later, regret – like having ice cream under the rain; there’s a high possibility he’ll catch cold just like how _loving Steve_ comes with pre-packaged hurt - but he’s aware of the risks and he’s willing to take them.

He’s done running out of fear, he’s done tormenting himself because he’s terrified of getting hurt.

Living life is inevitably going to hurt him, bruise him, break him; Steve or something else, and for some fucked up reasons, Tony rather it’s Steve than something else.

He wants to live and he wants to start right _now._

He wants to stop just _being_ \- because isn’t it about time that he stops.

Throw away those three pair of feet that attach him to the wall, observing and never participating in living while everyone else in the room live, laugh and love.

He’s done being the fly on the wall.

He wants to live too. He wants to laugh, be happy, and he wants to love – even if his love is a tangle of unsorted mess, he’s willing to take what time he has left in this life to untangle it, sort it out, weave something gorgeous out of it and he knows he can do it.

With Steve, they can both achieve that, because god, their love is a fucked up thing but it’s the most beautiful fucked up thing Tony has ever seen; ever had the privilege of participating in; co-own it – and he can never think of any other person he wants to co-own it with other than Steve.

Alive, dead, or yet to meet, Tony doesn’t care, doesn’t even want to, because Steve has ruined him for everyone else.

Right now, he _lives_ vicariously through achieving what he wants, and he wants to be close to Steve, so he glues himself to him.

Right now, he likes how near they are, how small they’ve made themselves to be in the queen-sized bed they’ve been provided with.

Likes how Steve hugs him just as tight and nuzzles into his cheek.

Likes having Steve touch him in return for how much he touches _and_ wants to touch Steve.

The night is young, he tells himself. The clock on the bedside table glares forty minutes past two in the morning.

When Steve with his blue eyes misting over, kisses Tony’s palm and mumbles another apology into it, Tony slips his other hand up to cup both of Steve’s cheeks, directing his focus straight on him and he says firmly;

“I’m sorry too. We fucked up; both of us. Not just you, not just me, but the two of us. But what’s done is done, Steve. I don’t want or need your apologies. I forgave you. I hope you forgive me too -,”

“Tony -,” Steve interjects frantically.

Tony presses a thumb to his lips and shushes him.

“Can you let me finish?”

When Steve nods, he heaves a breath in, thumb brushing sinuously over Steve’s lower lip and he continues;

“Remember when I said I want us to move on?”

Steve nods again.

They’re so close.

_So_ close that Tony can feel the hot air that blows when Steve parts his lips under his thumb.

He drags the digit down with a regretful sigh. For some things that he wants, there’ll be a time and place for them. This is not it.

“Remember you said you still love me -,”

“I do.”

“- and I said I love you too?”

Steve swallows around another jerky nod.

“Because, I do.” Tony exhales. “I can’t stop.”

“Tony -,”

Steve whines quietly – so quiet, it’s indecipherable -, his hand, the one resting just beneath the reactor, long nimble fingers, _shaky_, but incredibly cautious, as they skim around the scar engulfing the casing.

Trembling as they trace just outside, horizontally and Tony doesn’t have to see to know what Steve’s following; the scar from the burn.

Steve’s rather visible mark on him.

God knows, if not for his healing factors, Steve would be wearing a scar too; right over his heart – a stab wound, mark of Tony’s rejection out of cowardice.

“You hurt me,” Tony admits breathily, cradling Steve’s head tighter when he lets out a whimper.

“You hurt me the most but you also make me the happiest. Not a day. Not a second in my life I’ve felt happiest that wasn’t with you in it.”

He inhales sharply, laughing dryly when Steve does the same, his breathing synchronizing with Tony’s.

His fingers are still pressed, air width apart from the raised skin of scar across Tony’s chest.

Tony pushes a piece of hair dropping onto Steve’s forehead back and brings the hand down to press Steve’s hovering hand against his chest; directly over his modified heart.

“I think you know why.”

Steve’s breath shudders in his next inhale, falling out of rhythm from Tony’s – never mind, just a momentary distraction, Tony tells himself, they’ll fall back in sync again, inevitably.

“You too,” Steve says, voice still raw, cracking at its end, but his striking blue eyes are fierce on Tony, even as if they shed a lone tear.

Quite unlike the way he nuzzles into Tony’s hand, a barrier between his cheek and the pillow under his head; soft and shaky.

He takes a deep inhale, nose still buried in Tony’s palm and this time, Tony breathes in with him.

“I hurt you the worst, didn’t I.” Tony swallows around a painful lump.

Stating, not asking, because he did. He knows he did.

The unopened velvet box he left along with Steve the night before Ross presented the Accord is the glaring evident of that heartbreak.

_There’s nothing about me that you don’t already know. _

_What you see. Me. Like this. This is it._

Steve had looked so beautiful that day. So sure and earnest.

There were stars reflected on his eyes; bright and sparkling, excited to take on a brand-new journey with Tony in life because he loved Tony that much.

_There’s nothing about me that you don’t already know. _

But.

_You’re wrong. I didn’t already know about this._

Tony had said no.

Even before Steve opened the box, he rejected him; beating heart in his throat, fear and panic clouding his vision because he loved Steve too.

Loved him so much he would have died for him, but –

_What you see. Me. Like this. This is it._

What Steve saw then; Tony, the way he was – was a lie. He _lied_.

He hadn’t told Steve everything that was going on and it was too late – Steve was going to find out the next morning, Ross was coming with the Accords.

Tony knew – but.

But he hadn’t told Steve. Lie by omission, at the end of the day, is still a lie.

Cowardice, fear, knowing he’d done wrong;

_I thought we promised to tell each other everything. I thought, no more lying, Tony._

After Ultron, he did.

That morning – after everything had been said and forgiven – a new promise was made. But he broke it. Like a true champ, he broke it, and with it, Steve’s heart as well.

If Tony was in Steve’s shoes, he’d be fucking pissed. So, he said no.

He rejected Steve because he knew, when the next morning came, Steve would have rejected him anyway.

He told himself that he was saving Steve the trouble. Told himself, he was saving Steve from the heartbreak as he watched it shatter before him.

“You make me the happiest too,” Steve murmured, his hand - still beneath Tony’s hand, pressed over Tony’s beating heart - have finally stopped shaking.

He brings another hand to push Tony’s hair back from his face – pausing doubtfully for a second, then braving on, touching his skin with Tony’s skin – and he carefully presses his palm over Tony’s cheek and ear, thumb tentatively brushing under Tony’s eye as Tony closes them, _melting_ under his touch.

Steve holds his breath throughout it all.

Tony knows, because he’s been methodically counting their synchronized breathing and Steve has missed five of his.

“Breathe.” He tells him, eyes still closed, and when Steve does, visibly sagging into the bed, Tony lets his lips stretch into a smile for him.

“You’re beautiful.” Steve whispers.

His thumb trembles lightly when they go through another motion of repetitive swiping over Tony’s cheek, but Tony turns his head a little and presses his mouth over the underside of Steve’s wrist and it stops.

Steve exhales lengthily, sagging again, as if the weight of the entire world is only peeling out of his shoulders layer by layer, not all at once; one breath per layer.

He tips his head down, braver than before, moves closer – how they can get closer than they already were, Tony doesn’t know. 

His forehead presses solidly against Tony’s and he keeps his eyes open – bright blue, the prettiest shade, the _perfect _shade – focused on Tony as he brushes the tip of his nose against Tony’s affectionately;_ juvenile_.

So damned juvenile, that Tony cannot help but huff out a laugh.

Steve does too, laugh that is.

“Have you seen the mirror?” Tony asks, gently butting his nose against Steve’s in return.

A grin breaks out on Steve’s face, blinding Tony for a moment as his modified heart stutter pitifully in his chest.

He’s so beautiful. Unbelievably so, and yet, there he is, calling Tony the beautiful one.

Steve nudges back, brushing nose against nose, like some kind of animal Tony cannot think of at the moment.

It makes him laugh though, brighter, a little louder than the breathy huff he’d let out earlier.

His shoulders shake too, as Steve gazes, entranced, until Tony leaves his hand on his heart to poke at his side, and he joins in with the giggle.

His own shoulders hunching and curling around Tony, pulling them ridiculously closer until they’re hugging, god, they’re _hugging._

Tony has to be pathetic to get this affected by a simple physical gesture; but he _is_.

Steve’s body heat licking deliciously along every inch of his bare skin, nooks and crannies, crevices fitting together; precisely like connected two compatible puzzle pieces together.

He’s shuddering in Steve’s embrace; shoulders shaking for a completely different reason than laughing, and he murmurs into Steve’s blushing ear, giddy as he his, with hopes and in mood, he asks;

“Wanna be happy together?”

Steve’s abrupt silence is a sufficient reply, and yet, when Steve protests, “Tony,” Tony still asks him, “Hmm?”

Steve’s arms loosen around him and his heart races in his chest, Tony can feel it against his own, but he still pulls away just enough so he can meet Steve’s eyes, wide and pleading as he searches Tony’s.

“What if I hurt you again?”

Tony stares back confidently – for what Steve lacks, he has enough for them both - the remnant of his own glee still evident on the upturn of his lips.

“I hurt you back.” He answers easily.

Steve’s lashes flutter but he doesn’t exactly blink. Surprised, but still able to shoot Tony his favourite flat look. Tony preens.

“What, you think I can’t hurt you?” He challenges.

“I already did, Rogers. Only because you have super healing, you’ve escaped the scars. Pretty sure I left many…” He trails off, more sullen than when he’d started the sentence.

Steve swallows audibly, eyes fleeting down to Tony’s mouth.

“I know how to protect myself, Steve.” Tony reminds him.

Steve looks up again, this time, the pleading in those blue are gone, replaced by challenge.

“’S that why you started protecting me from myself.”

Tony grins abundantly, “As if you don’t do that for me.”

“Tony.” Steve exhales as he ducks his head, the fight leaving him.

Carefully, Tony leans down, chin dipping his own chest, noses bumping, and he presses his mouth to the corner of Steve’s own.

“Let’s be happy, Steve.” He murmurs.

Pulling away, he tilts his head up and presses another kiss on Steve’s forehead.

Steve shudders. He doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t pull away either.

Instead, he lets Tony hold him like that, head tucked beneath Tony’s chin while he hugs Tony back just as tightly and glues themselves together.

Later, Tony carefully adjusts them.

Rolling onto his back, he brings Steve along, head still pressed beneath Tony’s chin but body cautiously curled into his side rather than sprawling on top of him.

The clock on the bedside table reads half past three.

Tony keeps one arm protectively over Steve’s shoulder, the other running sure fingers through his hair.

Somewhere along the line, Steve starts retracing the scars over Tony’s chest; of burns and of reactor.

His fingers come to abrupt halt sometimes and he pulls a sharp breath in, like he’s catching himself in the motion, realising what he’s tracing, but mostly, it’s a calming rhythm; bottom half circle, to the left, back to the centre, top half of the circle, to the right, back to the centre, rinse and repeat.

When the clock beeps at five, neither is asleep to be awaken.

Tony numbly traces Steve’s motion as he reaches over to off the alarm and drop onto his back next to Tony.

Wordlessly, he pulls Tony so he’s draped over his chest; just like they used to, all those years ago, but at the same time, not exactly the same.

Come six, Tony excuses himself to the bathroom.

When he steps out, closing the door behind him, Steve’s waiting for him, seated on the edge of the bed as he hunches over, elbows propped over his knees, hands clasping and unclasping nervously in front of him.

Tony stands, with his back against the bathroom door, he takes in the nervous way Steve looks at him.

“Good morning.” He says.

At the exact time Steve exhales, a sure, _“Yes.”_


	4. Happy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fyi: i haven't properly beta read it. this has been exhausting enough to pen down. i'll reread it sometime later

Wanda agrees to enrol.

She tells them lot as they hunch as a group over breakfast, all of Charles’ people having filtered out; jobs and classes to go and be at, leaving Tony, Steve, Rhodey and Sam who look like a truck had ran over them and Wanda in their huge dining hall.

“Jean will be mentoring me personally.” She says to her mug of tea. “Since she and I have similar properties and all.”

It’s not schooling exactly since she doesn’t have the X-gene but it’s close to a supervision under Jean and by expansion, Charles Xavier’s expertise.

It’s painful to watch, her trying to feign it as easy and nothing of importance and the worse is that she looks so… lonely, detached from them all, even as she sits between Sam and Rhodey.

Tony feels a pang of guilt in his chest. It’s not time to reflect, but he can’t help thinking back to the days when he’d be in a crowd and yet, feel so, incurably alone.

He knows it’s not anyone’s fault, but being the crowd, in that instance, he can’t avoid the guilt from twisting around his gut.

It makes him sympathize with those who had flanked his lonesomeness once upon a time.

He’s not the only one who catches on that drift, for Sam puts a hand over her curled fingers next to the mug.

She gives him a smile and chances a look at the table. “Should be good right?”

Tony feels his throat constrict. He doesn’t know what to say. But the good thing about group talk is that, there’ll always be someone else to fill in the blanks if you can’t yourself.

“Only if you want, Wanda,” Steve reminds gently.

But it still makes her curl into herself, hand slipping away from Sam.

“I don’t know what I want.” She frowns, gaze affixed on the mug clutched to her chest.

Rhodey shoots a look at Tony. Tony meets him with a blank glance of his own.

On her other side, Sam takes a breath in, gearing up to speak, but she carries on, eyes flicking briefly to Tony, making his breath catch in his throat and she says to the table with a certain level of conviction.

“But I want to try and this feels like a good place for that.”

She flicks another glance at Tony, this time her lips curling mildly at one corner, a near miss but Tony sees it anyway and he exhales, long and slow.

“I can find something else -,” He begins to offer.

He doesn’t want to fail her. She never put such pressure on him, but that will never stop him from feeling responsible.

She’s theirs; once an Avenger, always an Avenger, as Steve would say.

“No.” She stops him.

“I – You’ve-,” She falters, her gaze flicking back to her mug before she heaves a breath and looks straight at Tony.

“Thank you.” She says, rendering Tony speechless. “They’re good people. I’m just not sure if I’m good enough to -,”

Chaos breaks all at once in that moment.

Each one of them striking up to argue and it’s Wanda’s little giggle that puts an end to that.

She’s laughing, but she has tears streaming down her eyes.

“I love you guys.” She hiccups into Sam’s shoulder when he embraces her.

Rhodey pats her hair, sighing as he exchanges a relieved look with Tony, and Tony smiles; all of them do, sad, but still, a smile nonetheless.

In that moment, right that instant, Tony feels like they’re a _family_.

They’re busted and broken, with still a lot of healing and patch up works to do, but he can see it right then what Steve once dubbed a family.

He can see a semblance of that unit in them as he sits, watching Wanda stifle last of her sobs into Sam’s shoulder and sits up, smiling wetly at each one of them.

He can see a sliver of that notion as Rhodey keeps one arm over her chair and as Steve leans forward to pat her cheek.

He can see it as he moves as well, just a lean forward and as he cups a hand over her curled ones around the mug and he gives a squeeze, nodding at her encouragingly when she meets his eyes.

In the kind of life they lead, whether they like it or not, death is_ inevitable_.

They taste death on their tongue as they go to bed and when they wake up. They see death at every corner they turn.

Tony remembers the first time he witnessed death; in the form of his parents’ cold bodies as the coffins closed and went six feet under the ground.

But the death that shook him was of Jarvis which he never even saw but he felt it in his core. Like a part of his was ripped out to never be replaced.

Wanda was what? Sixteen? Fifteen? When she felt half of her ripped out. Losing a twin…

Tony doesn’t even have a sibling. He cannot think how that would have felt for her. But he has Rhodey and when Rhodey came close to that in Germany, he had lost it.

Then, not so long after, Vision… God, if Tony loses – If Steve – If, god, if something happens to Steve, despite their dispute, regardless of his broken heart, even if it was in those times when Tony was convinced, he hated Steve, he could _never_ –

He doesn’t think he could have –

It’s just unimaginable is what it is. The amount of pain she’s shouldering at such a tender age.

She lost her everything too many times, when most people could not even handle going through that once.

Tony has no words for her. No ways to understand her, but he tries to. He tries to put himself in her shoes even if he fails each time because he cannot even begin to imagine, but he tries.

Which is why, as he watches Steve, Rhodey and Sam tell her something or another, he couldn’t.

He simply holds onto her hand and he hopes she hears him just as loud as them.

-

They decide, January.

She will have Christmas with them before she leaves.

Tony thanks Charles for offering what he had. Rhodey exchanged contacts with him; on professional notion. There may be plans to work together in the future, after shaping the accords to accommodate the mutants.

On a less professional notion, Rhodey and Sam exchanged contacts with Scott and some of the brute guys from his gang.

Tony spends a minute to track down Jean Grey and personally thank her, Steve tagging him along to express his own gratitude.

They leave the compound that yields its own nature with a full heart that weighs rather heavily in expectance of the approaching date when they have to part with Wanda.

They all will return to enrol her come New Year. Every single Avenger, Tony’s sure. Not a single exception.

-

Sam pilots back. Rhodey sits beside Wanda, supporting her head on his shoulder as she watches the clouds fade away.

Tony turns from them to the man beside him.

Steve’s tense, his hands balled up into tight fists on top of his thighs. Spine erect, painfully straight as if he’s waiting for an order. His head is turned to the window, jaw clenched and he’s giving the impression of gazing at the sky but really, he isn’t.

Tony feels his own back ache in sympathy.

His eyes drift back to Steve’s hand and he can vividly envision his own curling around it, squeezing, feeling the strength of Steve’s fist under his own skin, but he doesn’t do it.

Instead, he fists his own tingling hand and pockets it.

Then he takes it out. His knees jump.

Steve turns to the sound curiously, smiling stiltedly when he catches Tony’s eyes.

Tony smiles back, just as awkwardly, deliberately, spreading out his fingers atop his thigh, keeping them from curling into a fist.

Steve’s gaze catches the motion and he casts a fleeting glance towards Tony’s hand before hastily turning away with a tight smile.

Feeling immensely ridiculous, Tony takes a deep breath and bumps his shoulder with Steve’s.

When Steve looks at him in surprise, he shrugs, feels every solid second passing like a thick drip of something and grabs Steve’s hand in his at the fifth drip.

He hears rather than see Steve inhale sharply.

Defiance leads him to squeeze Steve’s hand just like he’d imagined, closing his eyes as he feels the tight fist under his skin.

Steve’s warmth, every dip and groove of the webs between his fingers and Tony swallows as he lets the back of his head hit the head rest.

He feels the heat of Steve’s gaze on him, but he keeps his eyes closed, focusing on the way the fingers flex tighter then let loose and after what feels like an eon, they finally relax and let Tony’s own digits slip in between them.

Tony opens his eyes then and he sees Steve’s head tipping heavily to the window, asleep.

One day, he tells himself.

One day, he’ll be on the side where that window is, and Steve will lean and Tony will hold him without feeling as awkward as they do now.

-

Sam asks, as soon as they step into the compound, loud and clear, “How many times.”

Barnes growls, “Fuck off,” hidden by the couch as he sprawls in front of the TV, ankles dangling off an armrest, head likely cushioned on Natasha’s lap as she sits on the opposite end, flaming red hair barely visible.

It’s Bruce who rushes to greet them with enthusiasm Tony had never seen since he dropped off the sky from his space venture.

“Oh, thank god. Finally,” he hugs Wanda and then Tony.

“Twenty-six,” He tells Sam solemnly and pats Rhodey on the shoulder.

“Fury’s trying to reach you and Steve.”

“Twenty-six?!” Sam asks, louder if that’s even possible, and Barnes throws a pillow at his head as Steve and Rhodey walk away.

Tony plops heavily on the armchair, eyeing the last minutes of Die Hard as Bruce ushers Wanda to the kitchen; something about tea and new blend of scents.

Tony thinks maybe it’s not just a Sam and Wanda thing. Maybe it’s Bruce too; making festive candles and decors.

“Twenty-six!” Sam whispers scandalously, eyes wide and gleeful as he smothers Barnes’ face with the pillow.

Natasha deftly slips away from under him as the two males tackle each other down, full on grunting brawls and (un-)manly squawks.

“Jesus Christ.” Tony exhales, shaking his head at them in disbelief.

Natasha slots herself smoothly into that inch of space next to Tony on his chair and sniffs, “Puts Thor and Steve to shame, honestly.”

Which is a feat actually, so Tony raises an eyebrow at her, “No, seriously?”

She snorts. “This isn’t the worst.”

Tony watches as they hit the floor with a pained huff.

“How did I miss this?” He asks in awe because this is a spectacle that he shouldn’t have missed, but looks like he had and that’s not at all a comforting thought. He feels stricken; he feels left out.

“If you live here, you’d know.” Natasha remarks casually, her eyes trained unblinking on the TV when Tony snaps his attention back to her.

It’s the first time any of them has brought that up to him. At least, directly.

He _used_ to live there. Back before the mess with the Accords, had his own room and space and the workshop that is now for everyone’s use used to be strictly his.

The thing is, he thought nobody missed him. Nothing about what Natasha said indicates she missed him, not literally, but that’s if Tony’s taking her words as he would of just another random person.

The thing is, this is Natasha, and as far as Natasha’s concerned, this is as close as she’ll come to asking him to move in.

He sees that in the way her jaw stays clenched, even as she looks like she’s watching the TV, even as every inch of her other muscles are soft and relaxed, Tony knows her enough to read her like a book now.

Better even, than he could before the Accords.

If then, there was still something in her that she held onto tightly still, now, she seems to have completely given in.

There’re no gates surrounding her heart when she’s around them these days. Especially since Barnes, and that’s a beautiful thing Tony’s been blessed to watch.

A spy stripped out of her many identities, still searching for whom she truly is, but at least now, she’s mask-free.

He holds onto her words to think about later. As for the moment, he laughs when Sam tries to smash Barnes’ face with his bare hand and she laughs with him.

“Are you happy?” He asks her, later.

After Bruce called them over to test his new candy flavour for this year’s Halloween (it’s a Bruce thing, to give out hand-made candies when they do their annual Avengers-Halloween rounds, visiting one paediatrics centre after another).

It’s peppermint and pumpkin, Barnes and Sam gagged while Wanda and Natasha politely swallowed.

Tony’s neither polite nor outright rude. He expelled the candy into a tissue paper, rolled it and tossed it into the trash can.

_“Sorry buddy, keep trying,”_ he’d said.

Bruce’s frowning, one flavour packet held in each hand as he tries to decide which one to put into the molten sugar while Tony sits with Natasha at the dining table, watching the end of Wanda’s cardigan disappearing down the hallway.

Her empty mug sits on the table; usually she would have cleaned up after her, but this time she didn’t, likely still occupied with everything that had happened in the last two days.

Tony thinks, time, is what she needs for the moment.

He redirects his focus to Natasha, still waiting for the answer to his question.

It’s not his style to word his question this way, but again, he wasn’t really going for his style was he. It’s hers; Natasha’s.

She told him once that all she wants is for him to be happy, so he thinks it’s only apt, to ask her the same thing.

To her credit, she holds his gaze, unwavering, green eyes flickering slightly as if she’s trying to read into him. Tony lets her.

There’s nothing to hide or more like, he doesn’t feel like hiding anymore. He lets her and she goes for only what she needs. That’s the difference isn’t it?

Once upon a time, she would have pushed and pushed, needling her way through regardless of respecting privacy, but now, she’s different; grown, matured – they all have.

Now, she only takes what she needs and Tony, who used to wear his walls like skin, lets her in easily.

Trust, he thinks, it’s the word he’s seeking.

“Not really, no.” She says truthfully. “Are you?”

Tony shakes his head, “Getting there. I think.” He adds, recounting last night.

Natasha ducks her head, lips clamping around the rim of her mug and they stretch into a smile once she finished sipping.

She turns away, elbow propped on the back of her chair and Tony watches as her eyes settle on the back of Barnes’ head; the rest of his hidden behind the couch as he and Sam battle against each other in a video game.

He watches as her sharp gaze soften and her lips relax into something close to smile and he wonders if that’s how he looks when he’s looking at Steve.

If that’s how Steve looks when he’s looking at Tony.

“He’s good to you?” He asks her.

He knows she can protect herself; she’s Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow.

But she’s also Natasha Romanoff, Tony’s… friend? Family, he decides.

She tilts her head, amusement clear in her moss green eyes and curled up lips, but she nods.

“He doesn’t think he is.” The smirk drops.

“But… it’ll get better.” She shrugs, easy on her shoulder but with tight conviction.

“You and Steve…,” She trails off, neither of them peeling their gazes off of where they’re currently settled on.

“Trying.” Tony fills in her blank and immediately garners her undivided attention for himself. A curious quirk of her carefully plucked eyebrow.

Tony rolls his eyes. “Nosy,” he comments, fondly.

“I_ am_ a spy, Tony.”

Tony grins, and they watch in silence as Sam tries and fail to kick the back of Barnes’ head, the smell of burnt caramel making them wrinkle their noses in synchrony.

-

Halloween comes and goes.

They put on their suits and visit paediatrics centres. Some orphanages and at night, they shed their uniforms for a round at the soup kitchen.

After Thanksgiving dinner, Tony spends a night in the compound. Willingly, unforced, unrelated to any kind of obligations.

“I can get used to this,” He sinks into the free seat next to Rhodey, fingers curled around a warm cup of hot cocoa as they watch Barnes and Wilson have another go for the remote.

Rhodey flings an arm over Tony’s shoulder and scoffs. “Childish. Absolute horror but man… they take me back to those days I spent with the guys, on the field, you know.”

His gaze is slightly unfocused, a faraway stare like he’s there but somewhere else as well.

Tony watches him for a bit before his own focus falls away and onto Steve. As they do these days, and all the other days _before_ too.

Wedged between Bruce and Natasha, he looks cosy in his red sweater. The temperature inside is not as cold to warrant layers, but chilly enough for goose-bumps to rise above their skin.

Tony himself is wrapped in a cream cashmere and his slack from yesterday morning’s meeting. His eyes burn from the missed sleep but he smiles as he watches Steve laugh at his mates.

They’re a team now as far as a team Tony had imagined should be. If Steve insists on calling it a family, he thinks he can forgive him for that too.

Because they look so much like they _are_; decked in mismatching socks and comfy throws, for each their own hot beverage and piles of snacks on the floor as they marathon movies after bad movies for the night.

Barnes wins the war by activating the magnetic feature Tony had installed in his arm the other weekend.

Wilson swears to murder the ‘Bucky and Tony team up’ something gory while Steve smiles indulgently at Tony from two seats over.

“Wish you’d move back in,” Steve confesses as he passes a mug of tea after everybody else has gone to bed.

He takes the seat beside Tony on the dining table and hunches over his own mug printed with garish pink ‘_Mommy_’.

Tony pulls his equally horrifying blue ‘_Daddy_’ mug closer and breathes the hot aroma of spiced tea in.

He ponders what to say to that and decides to just leave it be. It’s not like he hates to, he just… he’s not there yet.

Ever since they’ve vouched to give them another chance, nothing much has changed between Tony and Steve.

Quite the contrary from when they first started their relationship; when they had jumped on each other, barely could go a second without keeping their hands off, or their eyes for that matter. Everything they have had then they gave it to each other.

These days, they’re _calmer_. Somehow, that makes Tony feel stronger.

They see each other during the weekends, they talk, they argue – like they always do – but there are also stolen moments after everyone else has retired for the day when they’d sit, just like they do now – business kept well away from pleasure - and they share; words, memories, thoughts, moments and in some rare occasions, _touches_.

They never dared to cling as they did that night in Xavier’s mansion. Thus far, they’ve only held hands, intertwined fingers and when Tony had been about to leave, they had shared gradually snugger hugs.

It’s not like Tony doesn’t want to, because god, he _does_.

He wants to pull Steve in and _kiss_.

Kiss him all over until his jaw aches and he can’t breathe and all he can taste is Steve. Steve and just _Steve_.

He also loathes to part from their hugs. If he can, he wants to_ fall_ \- just like that; tangled and intertwined, plastered from top to bottom - into bed and never get out.

But it’s more than that – everything’s more than that.

It’s not so simple anymore. It’s complicated.

What his heart wants, his mind fears. Still. And every single second he spends with Steve is a war in itself.

He dared to tell Steve to let go and start over but really, doing so is tough.

He can feel the hesitancy from Steve as well. But it’s alright.

It’s _alright_.

They have all the time and they’ll make use of that. There is no need to rush. They’re trying, and it’s all that matters.

Now, as Tony nurses the hot tea, he inches his fingers towards Steve and waits until he’s met halfway. It’s progress from that day on Quinjet and Tony’s proud of that.

Steve’s fingers are deceptively smooth. For a man who punches for living, he’s unscarred, thanks to his serum.

Tony watches as Steve turns his hand, palm side up and intertwines their fingers. 

“You burnt your fingers again,” he comments idly, and Tony hums distractedly.

He’s more focused on Steve’s face. The soft way in which kitchen lights highlight his features against the jarring shade of red below his neck.

His throat is distracting too, the way the Adams’ apple bobs up and down when he swallows and his jaw.

His blue eyes are clear tonight, regarding Tony with so much affection that it’s staggering.

Tony drops his gaze to the sinews along Steve’s forearm. The way each muscle and their tendons flex and extend.

The gentleness with which he cradles Tony’s hand in his own and caresses the burnt skin with his fingertips.

So careful, like he’s scared he’d hurt Tony and it’s that thought that propels Tony to grab Steve’s hand and bring it to his lips.

He can’t remember the last time he’d kissed Steve’s hand, even if it’s just a chaste brush of lips. He’s sure they’d done it multiple times when they were… _Before_.

But not ever since.

So, Tony doesn’t dare to look at Steve even as he pulls away.

Simply fixes his stare on long, thick fingers curled around his own nimble ones and brings them up once more.

This time he looks right into Steve’s eyes in pure defiance, and he kisses them.

For a hot second, Steve leans in as if he’s about to catch Tony’s lips -

Then he’s not.

He’s half way across the world again even as his hand stays curled around Tony’s own.

But the shy smile that tugs at the corner of his trembling lips – under his tear glazed eyes and dully flushed cheeks - is so fucking worth it that Tony does it again.

And again.

“Barnes said you and Rhodey had an interesting day with the Council last Wednesday,” Tony brings up as he pours a second helping of tea for Steve and himself.

Steve accepts his mug with a grateful smile, waits until Tony’s seated before he confides. “Fury proposed a new addition to the team. Carol Danvers from ‘space’,” he air-quotes with an eyeroll.

Tony hides a snort behind his mug, amused by Steve’s expression. “You don’t approve?” he asks, picking at a lone thread hanging off of Steve’s right sleeve.

He gets a dubious look and a delicious flirty smile in return. “Why do I feel like you already know her?” Steve asks in a low rasp.

Tony lets go of the thread for a lengthy gulp of his warm tea before he waves the white flag. “Maybe because I do already know her. But in my defence, Bruce knows her too.”

Another eye roll as Steve takes a sip of his own. But nothing about his manner is accusatory. Instead, he’s easy, calm and almost – effortlessly – _playful_ treading onto flirty.

Tony lets him pick up his injured hand and trace around the singed skin along his ring finger.

“So, you don’t approve of Danvers?” He tries again, watching Steve’s concentration focused raptly on Tony’s hand.

“Not me,” Steve chuckles, looking up with mirth swirling in his blue eyes. “It’s Rhodey,” he winks uncharacteristically.

Tony couldn’t help it, he grins back at him, “What’s that face?”

Steve shrugs, continuing his tracing over Tony’s scarred skin. “If you’ve witnessed their exchange, you’d know why,” he smirks up meaningfully.

“You’re never gonna tell me, are you?” Tony squints at him.

Steve brings his hand for an unannounced kiss and murmurs into the skin, “Consider it payback for keeping Danvers a secret,” he winks.

Hot lips brushing tantalizingly, puffing out hotter breaths with each word expelled.

Tony doesn’t know exactly why his heart skips a beat; for the kiss or for the wink. Either way, he finds himself sucking in a deep breath and savouring the taste of it.

“Oh, c’mon. I have to know all of Rhodey’s torrid affair,” He nudges Steve’s cheek gently with the hand he’d kissed.

Steve snorts. Ungentlemanly, audible huff of air exhaled forcefully through his nose that makes him promptly flush a delicate shade of pink high in his cheeks.

He tries to hide it behind Tony’s hand. Unsuccessfully.

But the simple act of his bashfulness twists something worn within Tony’s gut. Something warm that has been shredded one too many times before.

But it’s _too warm _and it_ belongs_ and it feels oh, so right that Tony leans forward in his chair and kisses the cheek immediately behind his hand.

And the other. Just to make it fair…

And when he leans back – feeling all too warm himself – Steve is blushing _all over_.

His neck is growing a deep shade of Pepper’s favourite lipstick. _Rogue_; Tony remembers the name.

And his cheeks are roses spotted with sharp fuschia.

Tony knows the shade of his ears by heart. Seen that one countless time and he’s never, ever, will get tired of them.

He remembers pulling out the HTML colour codes on one of his then drunken nights.

Plastered as he was with alcohol and drugs polluting in his system, he remembers his vision clouding pink all the time.

Or red, he wasn’t sure.

So, he had to look up._ Had_ to, with dire need that clawed at the very centre of his being and he did.

He looked it up, and there it was; _#C51162._

_What a wonderfully deep shade of **desire**_, Tony remembers thinking before he passed out.

Now, as Tony remembers, he reaches for it. He waits for the twinge of pain from an old scar that never comes.

Even after he’s done mapping Steve’s ear. Downwards to his jaw and to his neck –

The lines of his neck muscles; strong and warm under his hand. Pulsatile as he lingers and Steve swallows, anticipating his next move.

Tony waits, until he doesn’t know what he is even waiting for anymore.

He waits until he’s jolted from the act of it – Come aware, with the questions; what, why - floating in his head and he decides enough is enough.

He kisses Steve.

Slow and steady. Soft and basking, in every brush of their lips, the heat of their breaths and their proximity.

He kisses Steve.

Cups his neck, a thumb tucked beneath his chin and he kisses him indulgently.

Not a second feels too rushed. Not a wisp of their breath or a beat of their heart. All of him poured liberally into that single moment, focused, entranced and all consumed.

He kisses Steve.

Just, slow. And then steady.

-

Tony spends the Christmas at the compound.

Three months ago, he would have trouble believing it, but there he is, surrounded by Avengers 2.0 in the cusp of Rhodey and Pepper who brought along her role-playing – surprisingly shy – boy toy (okay fine, boyfriend, whatever).

“Love the red,” Pepper passes him a flute. Orange juice sans champagne, and Tony takes a polite sip.

“Wrong committee here,” he tells her.

“What? You didn’t even bother helping with the decoration? Tony, that’s awfully impolite!” she gasps in mock aghast.

“She’s right. We didn’t raise you like that.” Rhodey sidles up, with his beer bottle and a platter of bruschetta.

Tony makes a grab for the lox and cream cheese one, picking at the capers and protesting with a mouthful, “You assigned me on a mission, Colonel. Or shall I say, Cap 2.0?”

“Please,” Rhodey scoffs, swallowing his own mouthful, but only speaking after, because he’s more decadent than Tony could ever. “Reserve that damned Cap title for your boyfriend. I don’t wanna hear it near me.”

“Already?” Pepper pipes up, 3/4th of the prosciutto bruschetta still on her hand because she’s secretly a hamster who nibbles on her food.

Tony gives her an eye roll and to Rhodey, “You don’t know what I call him in the bedroom.”

Rhodey lets out a painful groan. “God, and I prefer to never.”

“You brought it up,” Tony chuckles. “And no, Pepper. Not already.” He adds, because she is tapping incessantly on her flute, not so discreetly displaying her impatience.

“That’s… odd,” she trails off, taking another small nibble around the crust.

No, it’s not,” Tony assures her calmly, “We’re taking it slow.”

Besides, it’s only been like, what? One and a half month since they’ve decided to try again?

He doesn’t mention that aloud but it’s been in the forefront. Especially, increasingly, with every night he spends around Steve.

And boy are they, too, increasing in frequency.

According to Natasha, Tony might as well have moved in. He still sleeps in ‘his’ room. But the nights with Steve are longer by the day. They can easily sit for hours until the sun creeps up on them, if not for Steve’s insistence for them to retire by 3am because;

_“You need sleep, Tony.”_

_“And you don’t?”_

_“Not as much as you do. Serum, remember?”_

_“Oh, I remember.” _

Not just the lack of exhaustion but also stamina. Tony remembers very well just how _long_ Steve could go due to the serum and he sure did insinuate that with an embarrassing wink.

Steve still coloured, the way he does around Tony. Because Steve is stupid and in love with Tony just as much as Tony is enraptured by him and oh, look – Isn’t it, time for a toast!

“For team!” Tony lifts up his flute.

Pepper regards him flatly. “You were day-dreaming, weren’t you?”

“There is no such thing as day-dreaming, Pep. Now come on, let’s toast for the lovely team.”

“I’m not even on the _team_, Tony,” she rolls her eyes, air-quoting ‘team’.

“But Rhodey is,” Tony turns to him – or, where he was -, “Where is he?”

“Gone.” Pepper replies dryly, “For hours. And here I am, unpaid… attention. For all the effort and time I give for -,”

“You can stop talking now,” Tony loops an arm around hers, guiding them back into the kitchen. Leaving the chilly winter air of the backyard to the crickets and moonlight.

“Underappreciated -,” Pepper goes on dramatically, as Tony closes the door behind them, beaming at her.

“I got you something you’d like.”

That makes her pause, “Not the nth pair of shoes, is it? Unless you got me a new closet, I’m running out of space to -,”

“Nope, not shoes. But something… You’ll know when you unbox it later.” Tony winks, brushing past Wanda with a merry smile which she reciprocates brightly.

“For you,” she passes a tiny emerald box.

“Oh,” Tony marvels, watching as she passes a ruby one to Pepper as he opens his own to discover heart shaped chocolates. “Please tell me, Bruce had nothing to do with these.”

Wanda grins, “Nah, that’s all Sam and a little bit of me. It’s customized to each one of you,” she fidgets with her cardigan sleeve, overcome by sudden insecurity.

Tony takes a bite of his piece and so does, Pepper – after her very Pepper-ish; “_That’s so thoughtful. Thank you.”_

Wanda mumbles a shy response which flies past Tony’s mind because the burst of sharp chilli in his tongue is very distracting, albeit, incredibly delicious.

“Wow!” he exclaims, going for another one immediately.

It’s mint.

Tony’s eyes widen with delight. “Wow,” he whispers again. “I’m in awe. This is amazing. I’m gonna need a tubful of these. Also, very touched. I’m impressed. Did I say thank you, yet? Thank you. Also, I’m pretty sure this is all you and a _very_ little bit of Wilson.” He reaches out for Wanda’s elbow who’s blushing a delightful shade of pink, beaming, “Because if it isn’t for you, I’d be tasting all poop in my chocolate -,”

“Tony, you’re rambling.” Pepper chides fondly.

“It’s delicious!” Tony argues with her. She smiles at him before turning to give Wanda 100% of her attention.

“They are. Delicious and absolutely thoughtful. Thank you.”

“What’d you get? Louboutin?” Tony interrupts, to which Wanda snorts indelicately, immediately hiding it behind a hand and an apology.

“Oh, no. Don’t apologize. What’s manners in your own home and all that jazz,” he grins at her.

“You better go before he imprisons you with gratitude and insists on tasting everyone else’s chocolates,” Pepper smiles at her gently.

“I do no such thing!” Tony protests while Wanda takes her advice, with a quick peck to Tony’s cheek and a hug and Merry Christmas to Pepper, she goes away – with a petite straw basket swinging on her arm - to complete her round through the compound.

Pepper shoves a mug of hot drink into his hands to shut him up. It’s eggnog and he hates it, “Why, you -,” with another push to his shoulder, he’s suddenly facing a considerably flushed Steve and vaguely, he registers Pepper leaving but really, he never even turns to confirm it.

“Hey,” he greets.

“Hey,” Steve grins sappily. Then he hiccups and Tony squints at him.

“You can’t be drunk. _Are you_ drunk?”

“I only had a chocolate,” Steve simply beams at him, the corners of his baby blue eyes crinkling, making something like a lump lodge in Tony’s throat.

Looking away, Tony swallows it down and clears his throat. _“Bruce?” _he calls out loud.

“It was Thor.” Comes a muted bellow.

Tony palms his face for a second then looks up at Steve. “Thor, he says. Thor isn’t even here.”

“He dropped by while you guys were at that Xavier place,” James Barnes comments idly, sweeping through the kitchen floor in his horrible Christmas sweater to top up his eggnog. He gives a pat to Steve’s head and says, “Get it together, Stevie,” before leaving as soon as he got with a friendly pat to Tony’s shoulder.

Steve doesn’t get it together. Instead, he apparently thinks it’s extremely appropriate to lean in an nuzzle Tony’s cheek before kissing it. In front of everyone else. (Well not really when they’re all busy with their own thing but still-)

Then he whispers, “I’m so happy you’re here,” into Tony’s ear making Tony blush fifty shades of red and his heart go _thump-a-thump-thump_ in his chest.

“What the fuck is wrong with him?” Rhodey comes back with a sour look on his face, gaze fixed on Steve nuzzling into Tony’s neck.

Tony pets his hair gently, “Bruce and Thor spiked his chocolate.”

“Dammit,” Rhodey says, “Here I was planning on giving him a shovel talk and -,”

“Really Rhodes?” Tony gives him a flat stare.

Rhodey rolls his eyes, “Don’t try to convince me against it. I’m not missing it this time.”

When Tony shakes his head with a defeated sigh, he asks with a jerk to his chin, “Is he even awake?”

As if on cue, Tony hears a soft snore coming from the warm lump sagging over him. His face must give it away because Rhodey says, “I’d say I’ll help you, but something tells me you can handle it alone anyway.”

Tony flips him off but Rhodey’s already sipping on his eggnog with an indulgent smirk and he gives a wave. Calls out; “Good luck!” ask Tony pulls the half-asleep super soldier away from the get-together.

-

“I’m going to pay them for this, I swear.” Tony grumbles as he tucks the blanket over Steve. He gives a pat to his cheek, planning to stand up when Steve catches his wrist and doesn’t let go.

“Stay,” he smiles dopily, still high on whatever he is.

He looks so carefree and happy. Young again, like he’s gotten nothing in the world to worry about; weightless and unburdened.

It’s infectious. Illegal but infectious and beautiful; the way he smiles like that and effortlessly pulls a smile out of Tony as well.

Tony pushes the fallen hair away from his forehead and places a kiss there. “I’m not sure if you mean that,” he whispers solemnly, stroking Steve’s left cheek gently before he pulls away.

But Steve’s strong. Even intoxicated, he’s stronger than Tony and he gives a tug, pulling Tony back down onto him and he flips them over so easily. So neatly that one second, Tony’s sitting on the edge of the bed and the other, he’s under Steve, blue eyes gazing wondrously down at him.

“Hi,” Steve murmurs, a soft smile playing along his supple pink lips.

Tony eyes them and snaps his focus back to blue eyes. “Hey,” he says hoarsely.

His reply seems to make Steve melt as he sags heavily down on Tony (something nags about this position in the back of his head, something very small that vanishes soon after) and chuckles. Then he buries his face into the crook of Tony’s neck.

His deep sigh is an open-mouthed hot breath that collects wetly over Tony’s skin. A beat or two or maybe thirty passed before Tony feels warm, wet lips skim across his skin, wrecking shudder down his spine and he stiffens abruptly.

One palm up against Steve’s chest pushing lightly, he warns, “Steve,” low and gentle.

“I love you,” Steve whispers to his neck, still well buried along the column of his throat, refusing to resurface.

Tony gulps, nerves thrumming wildly as he throws a hand over Steve’s back and holds onto him.

“I love you so much,” Steve says, thick and congested as he sniffles.

Tony’s collar is wet but he couldn’t give a fuck about them. He’s too busy working a hand up and down Steve’s back, giving him a soothing rub as he kisses the side of Steve’s head and shushes him.

“I know,” he tells him. “I love you too.”

-

Somehow, he manages to convince Steve to lie on his back in exchange for his word; _I’ll stay._

Now he’s flat on his back, staring at the ceiling over a super soldier’s room as said super soldier pillows his head on Tony’s shoulder, curled into a foetal position all vulnerable but still with a firm grasp around Tony’s midsection.

It’s been a while since the _thump-a-thump-thump _of his heart went down and his palms dried up.

It’s been a while since Steve dozed off, sleeping off of whatever Bruce and Thor cooked up for him.

It’s been a while since Tony’s lain on the same bed with Steve with both or either one of them actually sleeping.

Careful to not jostle Steve, Tony takes a long deep breath in.

His hand pauses in its action submerged in Steve’s hair and he realises with a mild surprise that he’s been soothingly running his fingers through them, petting Steve.

He tears his gaze away from the white ceiling to look at the man curled around him. The sudden inaction from Tony seems to make him stir in his sleep as he makes a small sound and butts his head up into Tony’s hand.

Tony’s lips wobble, giving into a fond smile as he restarts the gentle rhythm he’s been working with subconsciously. His heart swells in his chest, expanding with no limit and he exhales lowly.

_It’s been a long time_, is all he could think. Nothing else.

Not a single regret or ache or even fear that worries. Nothing.

Nothing but the warm fondness that coils and purrs as it settles in him as he looks down at Steve who’s holding onto him like it’s the most natural thing to do.

And Tony agrees with him, he realises, as he bends a little to let his mouth brush over the short blonde strands and he presses a kiss, lips stretching into a smile over it.

This is easy now.

-

Waking up next to Steve has been something he’s never done for a very long time too.

But he’s completely aware when he came to; he wasn’t that badly gone that he is disorientated and Tony thinks, that probably saves them most of the trouble.

Because when he opens his eyes, Steve’s watching him. Unabashed, like he’s entitled too and Tony… he finds himself not minding that even a bit. He thinks he’ll do that too if it was the other way around.

If he’d been disorientated, he would have jumped a foot high and made a fool of himself. But that didn’t happen.

Instead, all his energy goes into worrying if maybe Steve hasn’t really wanted him to stay when he asked him too and now, he’s very unwelcomed where he is.

But all that get chased down soon when Steve cups a hand over his cheek and rubs a thumb beneath Tony’s eye so gently, it makes him ache for more.

When Tony turns his face into his palm and kisses the inside of his wrist, it’s apparently all Steve needs to scoop him and pull Tony into him with an exhale that sounds very much like a relieved sigh.

“I thought you wouldn’t stay,” he confesses into Tony’s hair, holding him tight.

To Tony’s amusement, Steve goes an extra mile and swings a leg over Tony’s hip, properly imprisoning him to Steve; tentacle like. He snorts, then straight up laughs, butting his head into Steve’s chest as he shakes from the force of it.

-

Later, he tells Steve, “I’ll always stay for you.”

-

According to the team, that was the day their mom and dad stopped being hopelessly stupid.

“Still stupid, but less.” Sam nods, shoving another spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth. James glares at him because he hates how he agrees with Sam Wilson on that point.

-

New Year comes like a whirlwind.

Only a few days after celebration, they have to send Wanda off and long story short; the compound never ceased from someone yelling “Wait! Have you got that –,” or “Did you remember to pack -,” every few minutes.

Tony himself nearly makes a purchase of a lifetime supply of shower stuffs when Pepper intercepts him with; “She got shops where she’s going, Tony. You’re not packing her away to remote island.”

Tony sniffles and Pepper squints until he removes the order. Every single thing. Okay, maybe she allows a set. But still –

“Trust me.”

“You’re just jealous.” Tony huffs.

“Uh, huh. Sure.” She rolls her eyes, passing him his dinner plate. “Now focus, this is the best episode of the season.”

-

On the day itself, the sky seems to mourn with them.

“I’m not dying,” Wanda says when Bruce tells her that. Then she hugs him and promises to visit every fortnight.

“You say that now, but you’ll forget all about us when you get there,” Sam jabs his spoon at her grumpily. “You’ll be all about partying with the younglings there all day all night.”

“I won’t forget about you guys,” Wanda rolls her eyes, worming her arms into her faithful cardigan.

Sam makes a disapproving sign with his mouth stuffed with breakfast, then he pauses, swallowing hurriedly and blurts, “Stay away from Jake.”

Nat raises an eyebrow from where she’s leaning next to James, nursing her tea. James seems to be aiming a wet teabag for Sam’s head.

“Paul is fine, but that Jake fella, nu’uh, I don’t trust that guy.”

The tea bag hits its aim earning a slow turn of Sam’s head and murderous glare at the criminal who shrugs and flatly says, “You suck.”

Before it could grow into a brawl, Nat saves the day by picking up the teabag and patting Sam’s head with a tissue. “Stop worrying about her, she’s tough. She knows what to do.”

A minute later, Steve bustles in from his after-gym shower with a solemn smile, asking, “All ready?” as he half-hugs Wanda. His gaze falls on Sam and immediately goes to James and he sighs, “Stop it, Buck.”

James childishly pokes his tongue out, turning around to wash his and Natasha’s mug.

Then, Steve’s eyes meet Tony who mouths a ‘hi’ and receives a muted ‘hi’ in return. Tony who has been holding his tongue and his empty coffee mug because he doesn’t know what to say.

Tony, whom Wanda chooses to abandon all of them for and sit next to so she could lay her head on his shoulder and watch the usual morning hustle in their home in companionable silence.

-

“How are you feeling?”

Tony considers it for a minute before he decides, “Good.”

It’s been a while. Been sometime since he stopped taking anti-depressant but he’s good. He genuinely feels better.

There are still times when he feels like a void has popped beneath his feet, but the difference is that he knows it. He’s aware of the fact that he’s going to get sucked in if he keeps standing there and not move elsewhere and that in itself grants him options.

And he steps elsewhere. Always. He’s so tired of falling, he doesn’t want to risk it.

Then there is Steve. There’s Pepper and Rhodey and a whole ass team who calls him their dad and Steve their mum because they think it’s funny but Tony lets them because he loves them plenty and they are his family.

Even if he realises that this gives way to another repeat of what went down before, he feels he knows better now. Has learnt to grow up and grown to accept it as a norm that exists within a team. Part and parcel of a _family._

They fight, they break apart but at the end of the day, they come together for Thanksgiving and Christmas anyway. They forgive and they try to forget.

“Does that mean you didn’t know better before?” his now doctor asks and Tony hides a smile as he ducks his head down.

The shade he’s chosen today is purple, but he’s opted out of wearing it.

“Nah,” he shakes his head. “I think most of it came from growing up alone. Didn’t really know what a family meant,” c_ause I didn’t have one. Not a real one at least._

The man hums thoughtfully, “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks when Tony’s silent.

Tony considers that too. “No,” he says. “Not really.” That’s mess that he had long since locked away - strangled and tied - and he doesn’t think there is an immediate reason requiring its release.

“Okay,” his doctor nods. “But if you change your mind…,”

“I know,” Tony nods. “I’ll remember.”

As for now, he feels… good. Actually, good.

-

T’Challa gives a call.

Well, actually it’s Shuri who called, asking James to come over for a look over his arm – “I’ve got some improvements!” – she insisted even as James declined and at the end of the day, even the Winter Soldier crumbles under a teen-girl’s pressure.

So, James tells her, “As long as I can bring Tasha over.” Then his cold blue eyes swipe across the living room and he rattles off more name. “The doc wants to meet the kids. Steve misses the goats. Wilson wants to help with the hays. Tony’s driving -,”

“You can’t drive a jet!”

“The little witch -,” he pauses, face falling abruptly. But his girlfriend speaks up, loud enough for Shuri to hear; “is visiting and she’s coming too.”

“Fiiiiiiiine,” all of them hear Shuri on the speaker.

“Shuri!! What are you planning?” T’Challa too.

Tony rolls his eyes from where he’s plastered next to Steve on the love seat. Mumbles something to Friday so the call is now expanded to conference.

They could hear Shuri’s muffled whining before T’Challa’s voice comes forefront. “Hello?”

Tony surely hopes Shuri got a snap of T’Challa’s face when he was greeted by various heys and his, because the following pause is surely out of shock.

Rhodey snorts, kicking his feet out onto the table. Bruce responsibly pauses the movie they’re watching.

Some more muffled arguments later, T’Challa speaks up, “Fine,” he sighs. “This Saturday noon. Do not be late. The gate closes after a minute.”

“The gate is coded to particle-recognition! Do not belittle my tech like that!” Shuri scolds.

Steve opens his mouth, probably to say, it’s fine and that Wakanda doesn’t have to do this for them but Sam shuts him up with a scrunched-up paper ball that goes straight into his open mouth.

“Fuck, yeah!” he punches the air quietly.

Tony snorts, watching Steve spit it out all while glaring at Sam, but is soon distracted when Shuri says his name.

“Ask Tony to bring Peter too.”

Tony rolls his eyes at that. “Noted,” he responds.

“Hey, Tony!” Shuri beams, and Tony gives a wave, grateful that the call has now been switched to face-call (a holographic version of it), “I’m sending you the notes on that stuff we were - um - talking the other day.” She continues grinning at him, “Open it.”

All eyes turn to Tony who squints, “Okaaay.”

_BRING CAROL DANVERS!!_

A text reads. Tony snorts without a second thought and immediately sniffs to cover it up when Shuri clears her throat.

“You got it?”

“Y-Yeah,” Tony scratches his beard, pathetically trying to hide the laugh he couldn’t quite control. “Anything else?”

“Nope, that’s all!” She glares beyond her big grin before turning to James again. “Clean your arms properly before you come. I don’t want to touch lube or whatever you’ve been playing with.” She ends the call.

The silence is deafening for a few heavy seconds. They watch as James Barnes progressively turns different shades of red and shifting to purple when Sam splutters out laughing. But the throw-knife that lands neatly right next to his head puts an immediate end to it.

“Bucky!” Steve shouts.

“Fuck off.” Comes the grumpy growl from behind Natasha.

-

These days, “Are you staying?” has transformed into “Are you leaving?”. That’s how much time Tony spends time at the compound. He’s probably practically living there.

Out of that massive fraction, he realises that not even half of it is spent in the workshop. Instead, he’s mingling with different members of the team every time he’s there.

He speaks business with Rhodey, plays tennis with him on some evening. He sits with Bruce when he’s cooking and asks about his new pen pals across Pacific. He spars with Natasha and he teaches James how to build a bike from scratch.

At night, he’s with Steve, talking uninterrupted for hours and they go to bed together these days – on those when he stays. They see each other during the day too, but briefly and most of it are joined by somebody else.

But not at night. Night is their time.

After dinner, they slip away to somewhere less crowded and it’s not difficult to do that with a square feet area that eat up more than a large lake. Sometimes, they go to the workshop if Tony still have work to do. Sometimes, they stay in the kitchen, lingering after a hang out with the team.

Other times, they take a stroll in the backyard under the moonlight.

Tonight, they end up in Steve’s room since Tony is staying the night anyway. Besides, someone has been asked to redo their mission report and Tony couldn’t stop finding it amusing.

Secretly he’s kind of proud of Rhodey having the upper-hand over the Captain America himself. But Steve’s easy-going attitude towards it dampens the effect. But still, Tony points it out.

“Here I thought I’d never see the great Captain America being bossed around.”

He’s on the bed, leaning against the headboard, legs straightened out as the holographic projection of his latest work shimmers in front of him.

“It’s not bossing around. I forgot a detail and Jim kindly asked me to correct it,” Steve answers coolly from his desk, fit snuggly next to Tony’s side of the bed.

“He asked you to re-do it.”

“Which is understandable.” Steve insists.

He stops typing to look at Tony when Tony lets the silent simmer. “What?” He chuckles. “You sure are getting entertained by this.”

“Very,” Tony admits, “Never thought I’d see Captain America being bossed around.” He repeats with a smirk.

Steve rolls his eyes and picks up where he stopped, but the smile on his lips stays and he keeps talking, “It’s not unusual. I make mistakes too.”

“Uh, huh. Sure,” Tony scrunches up an anomaly and tosses it into a holographic rubbish bin. “Does anyone point it out though?”

“_You_ do,” Steve replies without missing a beat. Tony’s mind stutters a second before picking back up.

“And you put a fierce fight over that.” He smirks, old memories sweeping to the forefront. “Still do!” he points a finger at Steve.

Steve doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he carries on with his work. The same easy smile lingering on his face promising a retort. Meanwhile, Tony concludes a few calculations and remodels a new product.

A few more minutes pass and Steve leaves his desk to go to the cupboard. Tony watches from beneath his reading glasses as Steve strips off of his t-shirt for one of sleep shirt and takes off his sweat pants. Then he joins Tony on the bed, and tips Tony’s head for a kiss.

“Is this how you’re going to justify all your arguments with me?” Tony murmurs into the kiss and Steve pulls away to let out a snort.

“You know it wasn’t all about that.” He says, glancing at Tony’s holographic projections curiously.

“I do?”

“Hmm,” he hums. Then he asks, “May I?” Leaning in to inch the pointer on the colour contrast bar a little to the right when Tony gives a nod.

“It’s different with you,” he says, squinting at the new shade of red before looking at Tony. Tony shrugs acceptably.

“Colonel Philips used to grind the living out of me back in the days,” he smiles, “Honestly, I’m glad to have a Colonel barking at my back again in this century.”

“How is it any different from when I bark at you?” Tony asks, squinting at him through the glasses. He’s curious but also a little annoyed about the biased reaction.

Steve chuckles, “Before, because I assumed wrongly about you. Later because…,” He pauses thoughtfully before shrugging. “I don’t remember. But now I just like driving you mad,” he grins at Tony before planting a kiss on his mouth.

“You’re a child.” Tony shakes his head. “An honest to God, child.”

Steve laughs, slides the reading glasses off of Tony’s nose and kisses him again. This time slow and deep until Tony’s breathless and he nods distractedly. “Yeah, yeah. I get the message. Lemme just,” he swipes a hand over the projection, closing them, before he pulls Steve back in by his collar and starts working from there.

They’ve been making-out more and more lately. Could even outdo their previous rambunctious days when they’ve christened every surface in the tower. Except these days, they’ve been stopping at make-outs only.

Nothing below the necks and truth be told, Tony’s been thinking about breaking that spell these last few days.

So, he takes a courageous leap and sneaks a hand under Steve’s shirt. For a dreadful second, Steve freezes. His eyes search Tony’s and whatever he sees in them makes him lean back in, seal their mouths together and take his shirt off of him entirely.

“Fuck,” Tony exhales, fingers miles ahead from his brain, dancing across Steve’s naked torso freely as he takes him in with an awed expression.

“Too fast?” Steve asks softly, his own fingers carded through Tony’s hair, holding him close where they’re breathing in the same space.

Tony looks up from the stretch of flawless perfection into darkened blue eyes and shakes his head. “Not too fast,” he says, wiggling out of Steve’s hold to take his own shirt off.

“Overdue, maybe?” he hears Steve chuckle nervously and he shuts him up with a kiss, blindly tossing his shirt over his shoulder as he rolls on top of him, tipping Steve onto his back on the mattress.

“Don’t care,” he kisses him wetly, “Now is the -,” he pauses for another kiss, tucking a hand into Steve’s boxer, “- now.” He finishes intelligently, pulling a laugh out of Steve.

-

Refitting his body with Steve is like tilting the world right.

It’s returning home. It’s retracing the codes that make up his own existence. It’s natural.

They’re a little impatient because it’s been such a long time coming. But they aren’t in any hurry. They didn’t leap, they sure didn’t walk but they ran.

Steve’s hand around him is a familiar feel and rhythm that awake that unique-to-him arousal which has been dormant in Tony for years.

It’s kind of like giving up your most favourite thing in the world because it’s not necessary to stay alive but the very instant you have the taste of it again, you remember why you were so smitten with it in the first place.

It’s not close to what Tony would think of Steve, because Steve is more than that. Steve is like engineering; he makes up who Tony is.

There is no way Tony can tell describe himself without mentioning Steve. That’s how interwoven they are, and he knows that it’s mutual. Steve is what Iron Man is to Tony; a part of his identity.

Lying spent next to Steve is another renewed old thing.

Tony smiles when Steve tosses the damp-towel he’d brought from the bathroom into his laundry basket with precision. This is familiar.

So is the way Steve worms back into the comforter, shirtless with a new pair of boxers and pulls Tony close.

“Hey,” he smiles, kissing the top of Tony’s head.

Tony traces his face from his brow-bone to his mouth and chin and whispers back, “Hey.”

He tips his head for a kiss which Steve gives gladly; chaste, lazy and indulgently soft. Helps him to stop worrying and complete the final step in their unscripted post-coital routine; throw a leg and an arm over Steve, using his chest as his pillow. His favourite kind.

Steve lets him do all that with a growing smile across his face. And once Tony deems the position complete, he feels Steve’s hand hooking at the back of his knee and another rubbing a circle in between his shoulder blades.

“It’s snowing,” Steve murmurs, voice a deep rumble that Tony feels in his own chest.

Tony twists to glance over his shoulder – refusing to ruin the perfect comfort he’d achieved to sleep – at the window Steve never bothers to hang a curtain over because he likes looking out of it at the lake that expands beyond the compound. Obviously, no one can look inside, and it helps get him in the mood when he’s sketching.

“It’s late,” Tony mumbles, turning back to tuck his nose in Steve’s sternum.

Steve hums agreeably, letting the topic drift to an end.

His gaze lands on the set of drawers next to Steve, particularly the second one and for a brief moment, he recklessly considers about asking what’s in there. It’s not as if he needs to know or as if he doesn’t already know.

It’s not even as if he’s actually curious. Merely reckless.

Then he actually thinks about it. Wonders what’s the point in bringing it up, what would be the end goal here and he decides to not.

They’re not there yet, he decides.

He feels the press of Steve’s mouth over his head and he closes his eyes, pulling a breath in.

“Sleep,” Steve says. “Whatever’s in your mind, it can wait.”

And it surely can.

-

For all those time Tony spent fretting about how to sneak one binary into their Quinjet, he could have saved them by talking to her.

In his defence, he didn’t have her number. But he finally got to when he walked himself in the middle of a conference call Rhodey and Steve were having with Fury, Hill and Danvers.

His excuse flies off of his head the minute he spots her. “You!” he points at her.

“Hi, yourself rudeness,” Danvers smirks mischievously.

Rhodey rolls his eyes, turning to address Tony, “Tony, get out.”

But Tony has been so desperate to get in touch with Danvers so Shuri wouldn’t feed him to Wakandan rhino that he ignores Rhodey and blurts out the invitation urgently;

“We’re visiting Wakanda tomorrow, wanna come with? Lunch time. Around one.”

Fury’s eyebrows climb up the roof. Rhodey actually looks betrayed while Steve looks from Tony to Danvers like a lost puppy. Hill is stoic as usual.

Danvers herself shrugs, “Sure, I was planning to visit Moni anyway. See you there?”

“How’re you flying,” Tony asks stupidly before he remembers at the quirk of Danvers’ amused brow and he goes, “Ah, of course.”

Dammit. Well at least he doesn’t have to worry about awkward road-trip interactions.

With that answered, he waves them all goodbye and exited himself, saving himself an explanation to Nick Fury.

Doesn’t mean he escapes Rhodey though, because that bear sure hunts him down with a hunger.

“How did you know Danvers?!”

“Are you actually upset? You look upset,” Tony tries to worm his way out of the topic. But Rhodey knows him too well.

“Tell me,” he turns the chair Tony’s sitting on around so they’re now face to face.

Tony groans and caves in. Rattling the entire tale that was birthed out of his sheer need for distraction and continues to cringe towards the end because now Rhodey is full on glaring at him.

Eventually, Rhodey pulls away with an irritated huff, “First, Captain America and now she got my best friend tied around her pinky,” then he gives another glare, “Or maybe you first and then Captain America.”

The way he behaves at the issue is so not Rhodey and Tony suffers a brain fart before he remembers what Steve mentioned one night and he puts two and two together and –

“AHA!” he points at Rhodey. Beaming like the biggest loon. “So, this is what Steve meant.” He laughs at Rhodey’s increasingly confused look.

“What did Steve mean?” Rhodey bugs him but Tony thinks he’s going to hold onto that just for the heck of it.

“He said he likes when I call him honey in bed,” he grins.

Rhodey scowls at him, opening his mouth to argue but sweet Steve sweeps in just in that moment like an angel and saves him.

“I thought that was supposed to be our secret?” he asks acting hurt and Tony turns his full-face grin at the man, giving Steve the kiss he swoops in for.

Rhodey seems to give up after that. Exiting the shop with grumbling about Tony being a rude-ass jerk-face.

Steve chuckles, plopping on an empty chair and swivelling around lazily. “So, Danvers,” he begins, looking up at Tony through his criminally long lashes. Blue eyes twinkling, “Care to elaborate or Rhodey used up all your energy already.”

Tony rolls his eyes fondly, starting anew. Repeating the story in a more dulcet tone as Steve nods and smiles at places.

“I don’t think I met the kid properly,” he murmurs thoughtfully.

“He agreed to train after graduating so don’t worry about that. You’ll see a lot of him.” Tony assures him, twirling the min-wrench distractedly.

Then someone clears their voice and asks, “What’s a binary?” from inside the shop that Tony clutches onto his chest because he swears his heart just skipped a fucking beat.

But Steve jumps into explanation like he’s known forever that James Barnes is inside the shop all this time and Tony has to stop him.

“What the fuck?” He asks, still feeling a little faint. He couldn’t even spot James until the lunatic raises a hand and says, “Here.”

“Since when have you been here?” Tony half shouts at him.

Steve laughs and Tony turns to him, “You saw him?”

“He was right here when I walked in.” Steve shrugs.

“I was here before _you_ walked in, dumbass.” James supplies flatly to Tony’s confuddled look. “They call me ghost for a reason.” He adds lowly.

And Tony can hear the smirk in his voice even if he couldn’t quite see it alright. He wants to throw the wrench at him, childishly.

He’s not mad per say, especially after that name calling because that is something Tony appreciates with a strange fondness. Coming from James who had taken so long to even speak his mind, this is pure affection. Not the knife throwing kind that Sam gets but Tony’s good with this amount.

So, he restrains and simply shakes his head, gladly leaning into Steve when the man throws his arms around Tony’s neck from behind him, their chairs bumping.

“Stevie. Binary.” James reminds curtly and Steve jumps back into his explanation smoothly. Fingers interlocking where they hang over Tony’s arc-reactor.

-

The night before they go to Wakanda, Tony goes back to the tower and have dinner with Pepper.

They put Good Omens on and curl up on the coach with Chinese take-outs. After the second episode, Pepper excuses herself to change into something more comfortable; Tony’s shirt and an old pair of sweats.

When she comes back, Tony hands her a bowl of ice cream and she curls into him and tells him about her boyfriend.

The topics drift from nothing to everything.

As the end credit for the final episode rolls, Pepper turns to Tony and asks him if he’s happy.

“Yeah,” Tony tells her. Smiling through the kiss he places on her forehead. “Thank you.”

“No,” she says firmly. “Thank _you_.”

-

Saturday morning sees Tony in the compound earlier than the bird. In fact, he’s so early that he catches Steve, James and Sam leaving for the morning run.

“Military habit, fellas?” He asks, shutting his car’s door with silent thud.

“You should try it, good for heart they say.” James growls, grumpy as usual in the early hours.

Sam on the other hand either finds it amusing or challenging (or maybe he has a death wish) for he tells James, “Didn’t know you have one.”

Steve jogs up to Tony, bouncy on his feet as he shakes his head fondly at his buddies and leans for a good morning kiss.

“Hungry?” He asks

“Nah. I was thinking about finishing some work in the shop before we leave.”

Steve nods, “Okay. Give me half an hour, I’ll make something,” he promises, jogging backwards.

Tony waves him off. “Take your time.”

Steve gives him a salute, says, “I think Jim’s up. I think,” and starts catching up with the guys.

Tony watches him pass Sam easily, waits until James throws a middle finger at Steve’s back before he walks inside.

He wasn’t lying. He does have somethings unfinished in the workshop. Which sufficiently distract him until Friday announces that Steve has invited him for breakfast.

The first person he sees at the table is Wanda and it has been such a long time since he last saw her that his body decides it’s acceptable for him to walk over and give her a tight hug before his brain catches up with him.

Fortunately for him, Wanda hugs him back just as tightly. No hesitation what-so-ever as she presses a kiss to his cheek when they pull apart and murmurs; “I’ve missed you.”

The rest of the team start spilling in, each one helping themselves to generous amount of whatever the military trio have decided to cook up for them. And the conversation easily falls to catching up with how Wanda is doing to how the rest of them are doing in her absence; exchanging updates and before they know it, it’s half past eleven and they start cleaning up for their afternoon trip.

-

“It’s as gorgeous as I remember.” Sam whistles lowly as he walks down the landing pad. Shaking his head at Peter who bounds by waving enthusiastically at Shuri and surprisingly, at Okoye who blows a kiss at him.

“Wait till I feed you to the rhinos,” James follows after Peter - less bouncy but fast enough to pass by Sam - heading straight to scoop Shuri up into a swinging hug.

“I hate him.” Sam growls at his back.

Steve pats his shoulder, joining him to shake T’Challa’s hand and thank his hospitality like two very respectful old souls they are.

Tony waits till everyone is off the jet before he steps out but immediately gets the scare of his life when a bright yellow ball of energy makes a landing right in front of him.

“Fuck!” He swears, rubbing his chest, squinting until the glow dims, revealing one Carol Danvers.

“Show off.” Rhodey scoffs next to Tony which makes him bark out a laughter and walk up to greet her.

To his surprise, she pulls him into a hug and Tony has a nagging suspicion that she may be sticking her tongue out at Rhodey over his shoulder.

“You think this is funny, but I’m going back with him.” Tony pats her back.

She pulls away with a laugh. “We should really spend more time together, Tony Stark. I have a good feeling, we’ll get-on well.”

“You’re just trying to drive Rhodey insane. I see through you, space-face.” Tony squints at her.

She laughs some more, leans in to whisper, “Maybe. Maybe I really meant what I say,” then she leaves him with a wink to attack Monica Rambeau in a hug.

Okoye and her girls welcome them all with a smile. But she seems to save her most disgusting stare for Bruce who ducks and scuttles inside quickly.

“I hear you and Captain have made up,” T’Challa comments, staying behind with Tony who lingers at the landing pad, letting everyone else walk in first.

“No thanks to you,” Tony jokes, to which T’Challa actually laughs.

"No, not at all," he says. "This is all you and him."

And Tony couldn't agree more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is officially the end of this story. but since many requested for a steve counterpart, it'll be an additional fifth chapter. :)  
It'll tackle the whole 'abuse' notion from his perspective as well as some awkward first dates between himself and tony  
ofc, there will be the shovel talk from rhodey as well ;)  
if you've stuck by this long, thank you very much. stay safe and lots of love <3
> 
> p:s// i forgot to mention before, but if you're curious abt this version stevetony 's nsfw dynamic, you can find it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24583459) ^
> 
> p:p:s// if you like this story, pls share it on [tumblr](https://anthonyed.tumblr.com/post/621426923424317440/anthonyed-anthonyed-sinceim-already) ^


	5. Starting Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve's pov; beginning from the night in Xavier's place.

Steve cannot believe he missed it.

All those days and nights he’d spent… watching. He thought – Well, he ought to have noticed. Even the dimmest shade of the blue he’s so familiar with. And yet.

Here he is, baffled at his own ignorance. On top of the weighing guilt that sits in his stomach heavier than a boulder, threatening to rip him into pieces.

God, he  _ hates _ himself.

Just when he thinks he can try to move on. Listen to Tony and  _ try _ -

“I hurt you the worst, didn’t I,” Tony murmurs quietly.

Now, and here where they’re so attached; from top to toe and Steve still finds it's hard to believe.

He can barely remember the last time they’ve been this close. All their scars are larger than life, distracting, from the beauty they’ve created long, long time ago.

It’s as if, all of their relationship is only pain and realistically, Steve knows it’s not true.

Realistically, he knows they were once happiness, joy and incredible amounts of laughter wrapped in silliness. Yes, it’s unbelievable, but once they were so drunk in love; a tangle of giggling mess wherever they go.

But now –

Steve breathes in, the hitch in his throat jarringly painful.

He can remember how he hurt Tony the most, but a part of him also recalls how he’d hurt  _ because of _ Tony.

The memory is all black and white as if it's mourning.

He’d blocked the day out but not how it had felt on his skin. Sitting on the rooftop of a hotel as he kept an eye on Tony’s California mansion.

It was supposed to be just another night down the list of nights he’d been following Tony like a stalker. But it didn’t end just the same.

Instead, everything went so wrong so quickly that Steve still finds it staggering to this day.

Tony threw another party.

There were barely moments when Tony wasn’t surrounded by some strangers. Not that they were anybody important – switching as they were from one face to another every few hours – but they were  _ always _ present.

As if Tony couldn’t stand himself on his own.

Funnily, Steve could empathise with that. He ran away from his own reflections, so there was that.

That night, it was another huge crowd. People were everywhere, filling in every nook and crannies of the mansion. If one had to guess, they would have said it was a college rave-party.

Tony himself was nowhere.

In retrospect, it was the thing that prompted Steve to move closer to the mansion.

Usually, he’d keep his distance, but that night, he went inside the mansion. In his defence, he couldn’t see Tony, and that didn’t sit well with him.

He could always see Tony. Even with his eyes closed.

The alarm never went off. The security was all around flimsy. Steve felt particularly annoyed at Tony for that.

It was as if he couldn’t care – and Steve realised then (after everything he’d witnessed so far) that Tony really did not care.

He remembers hitching his hood up his head and keeping his eyes on the ground as he marched through the crowd.

Nobody recognized him. What more, realised there was somebody unusual amongst them.

With every turn, he bumped into someone drunk or high.

He remembers the stench of alcohol and cocaine and sex; just the nastiest concoction that sent his head spinning as he climbed the stairs.

Tony was not on the second floor.

Nor was he on the third floor.

Steve remembers panicking because the fear of losing sight of Tony was so crippling. He remembered the desperate need to know that Tony was safe.

That was all he needed.

To know that Tony was safe.

But he was wasting time with just searching and oh god, how he wished to have had Jarvis or Friday for guide then. How he hoped he had the luxury of asking for Tony and having him within his arm’s reach the very next second.

He remembers vividly the red and blue siren going off. So loud that he winced and hurried to the basement.

That was where he’d found him.

A full body shudder wreaks through him and he holds onto Tony under the moonlight.

Then, all he could do was rush to his side, feel for pulses and dial 911.

Then, all he could do was run up, wave for the policemen to come inside, help them load Tony into their patrol car and hold on.

He held on to the limp body, feeling for the weak pulse throughout their ride to the hospital. He couldn’t hear anything except for his own blood in his ears as he rushed Tony into the emergency room.

And he couldn’t feel anything except the chilly air of the procedure room where they bagged Tony, poke him with needles and finally yanked the curtain close on Steve’s shocked face.

_ “Please wait outside, mister.” _

The echo of the on-call nurse’s voice that night – firm yet gentle – still rings through his ears to this night. The ghost of her hand over his arm as she guided him outside to wait –

Steve shudders again, plastering himself closer to Tony.

Pressing his hand harder to the reactor as he focused all of his energy to be here; now. In the presence.

Tony’s safe.

He’s safe and sound and he’s breathing just fine. His heartbeat is regular around – Steve does a quick count to confirm – 64 to 67, and he’s conscious.

His eyes are open, his pupils aren’t blown wide or unresponsive, he’s smiling and – And –

He’s safe.

Tony’s  _ safe. _

Steve clutches onto that fact like a lifeline and murmurs, ““You make me the happiest too.”

He watches the softest smile bloom across Tony’s face and he feels his free hand react to it.

His fingers tease the falling curls over Tony’s forehead, push them back and they trail downward. Hesitant caress – just the lightest trace of his fingertips across Tony’s skin – until he reaches his cheek and he cradles it.

Index cupping below Tony’s ear while his thumb hovers and presses courageously under his eye.

Tony had never learnt to rest well. As a result of that, his eyes tend to sag, just a little from all the exhaustion.

Steve presses over the bag and drags his thumb across.

He feels Tony sigh and melt into his hold.

“Breathe,” Tony says, and only then does Steve realise he’s stopped.

He inhales deeply, body sinking into the mattress and marvels at the smile Tony rewards him with.

“You’re beautiful,” Steve whispers.

He remembers holding Tony just like this then too.

Only he had to be extra careful around the tubes and wires and when Pepper cleared her throat, he almost yanked out one of them.

Now, Tony presses a chaste kiss to the underside of Steve’s wrist and Steve sags.

He’d almost lost Tony that day.

It had hurt  _ so much _ , then. He honestly still doesn’t know what he would have been had he had –

But that was then and this is now.

Now where Tony is here, in his arms, so very close. Criminally close that Steve feels like he’s going to be arrested for this.

_ So what? _ The rebel in him rises.  _ So, what if he got arrested for being this close to Tony? _

Tony surely doesn’t seem to mind. So why should Steve?

Impishly, he ducks his head and nudges his nose with Tony’s.

Just to mock the fear inside him. The skittish voice that hisses _ , “Watch your distance!”, _ whenever he’s around Tony.

To his pleasure, Tony huffs out a laugh. Steve follows suit and soon, they were both giggling like idiots.

Tony bumps his nose back with Steve’s and chuckles, “Have you seen the mirror?”

Steve recalls what prompted that response and beams at him. He does the nose thing again. Because Tony lets him. Because Tony laughs and because Tony looks at him like – like  _ that. _

And Tony hasn’t looked at him like  _ that _ for a very long time.

It’s an addictively giddying sensation.

Like they were young loves again and secretly fooling around in their private bedroom. They giggle and tease and soon, somehow, they’re hugging.

It’s the single most satisfying feeling in the entire world; to feel Tony wrap his arms around him and his own arms wrap around Tony.

The size of him, his weight, his warmth and his scent;  _ perfect. _

Then, Tony asks, in a hushed murmur, like he’s whispering out a secret;

“Wanna be happy together?”

And Steve feels his stomach drop like a boulder.

“Tony…,” Steve begins, drawing blank as to what to say.

Tony still hears him, “Hmm?”

The blue glow blinds him when he pulls away, and his gaze flicks to the device embedded in Tony’s chest. Long raised skin pinching across, from one nipple to another; pinkish and glaring at Steve.

Reminding him that he’d not only come close to losing Tony once, but  _ twice. _

The very thought is enough to sweep clean all of Steve’s giddy emotions.

“What if I hurt you again?” he rasps out, meeting Tony’s eyes.

He cannot. No matter what, he refuses to put himself in that position. He cannot see Tony hurt again.

_ You hurt me the most but you also make me the happiest. _

Tony’s words reverberate, laying chaos down his thought stream.

_ I think you know why. _

“I hurt you back,” Tony answers him so carelessly that Steve blinks.

“What, you think I can’t hurt you?” Tony asks him with a smirk. As if this is some kind of a twisted competition.

“I already did, Rogers. Only because you have super healing, you’ve escaped the scars. Pretty sure I left many…,” his smile falters at the end.

Steve swallows. He hadn’t been thinking about the physical ones because lord knows he could care less about what Tony does to him there.

But it’s the mind… It’s the –

The heart is where it hurts. To see Tony hurt, and it’s stupid because it’s one big stupid circle of  _ I don’t want to hurt you so I’m going to stay away but if I do that, I’m gonna upset you and upsetting you is inevitably going to upset me. _

And it’s not like Steve actually wants to or has the ability to keep away from Tony. Lord knows, the many months of 2016 bore witness to that fact.

Tony’s lips part in his next inhale and Steve’s gaze drops there.

“I know how to protect myself, Steve,” Tony says.

Something twists sharply inside him.

“Is that why you started protecting me from myself?” Steve challenges him, glancing pointedly at the reactor between them.

Tony grins, “As if you don’t do that for me.”

“Tony,” Steve breathes, defeated.

Because that is…

_ “You have no right to be here,” Pepper muttered as she took the seat Steve just abandoned. _

_ _

Tony kisses him. A chaste press of his lips to the corner of Steve’s

_ Steve took a step back, and another, until his spine was brushing against the closed curtains around Tony’s bed. _

_ _

“Let’s be happy, Steve.”

_ He watched Pepper meticulously pick at the wires so she could fit a hand around Tony’s face. _

_ He watched as she sagged and shook and broke down against her will. _

_ _

Another kiss. To his forehead.

_ Silently, he wondered why she left him in the first place. Why gave Steve a chance to hope; to chase after Tony. To confess, to love, to make Tony fall in love with Steve only to break him into unrecognizable pieces. _

_ Silently, he accepted that Pepper would have done better. She would have loved Tony better, took care of him and never, ever, would she have hurt him like Steve did. _

_ “Tell me what happened,” Pepper flat order pulled him back to reality. _

_ _

Steve shudders.

Tony rolls them onto his back. Lets Steve hug the life out of him.

_ “I – er – I found him unconscious in the basement,” he confessed. _

_ It was what he had said to the officers and doctors who had got to him before Pepper. _

_ “There was a party going on and he wasn’t around so I went to look for him and I found him,” he paused, feeling his throat clamping shut and he swallowed. _

_ Pepper glanced at him over her shoulder. Steve took that as a ‘go on’ and forced the next words out of his mouth. _

_ “His breathing was slow and his pulse was weak. I called 911 then I remembered that the police were over upstairs – probably someone called them for disturbances – and I asked for help.” _

_ “Who called the police?” Pepper sniffled, turning halfway so she was partly facing Steve even if all her attention was zeroed in on Tony. _

_ “I don’t know,” Steve shrugged. _

_ “Did you know what he took?” _

_ “No, I -,” he glanced at the closed door of Tony’s cubicle, “they mentioned some names but I wasn’t – sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.” _

_ Pepper nodded, still not looking at Steve and Steve took her silence to glance at Tony. _

_ They told him he was stabilized for now. They went on to rattle some other medical information but Steve shook his head. He couldn’t understand a single word they were saying, so he told them to call Miss Potts of Stark Industries and tell her all about it. _

_ He didn’t know how much they’ve told her – or if they’ve told her anything at all. _

_ But Steve was still numbed by the sight of Tony; unconscious, pale and just – _

_ Two quiet knocks to the door interrupted Steve’s thought. Tony’s attending doctor peeped in, “Miss Potts?” _

_ Steve pulled in a shaky breath and moved to the wall. Pepper nodded in acknowledgement, turning to the doctor who took it as his cue to step in. _

_ “Hi, I’m Dr Halsted. I’m the attending in charge of Mr Stark here. I spoke with Mr Rogers earlier but he told me it’s wiser if I spoke with you, so is that…,” _

_ “Yes, please. I’m Pepper Potts, Tony’s friend.” _

_ “Right,” the doctor exhaled, probably relieved to finally have someone reliable he could update his patients’ condition to. _

_ Steve plastered himself to the wall and wished it would just swallow him in. _

_ “Based on the brief history we took from Mr Rogers and the lab results that we got back, Mr Stark’s main diagnosis is substance overdose.” _

_ “What substances,” Pepper struggled to enunciate. Frail fingers locking around her elbows as she hugged herself in defence. _

_ The doctor seemed to struggle too; shaking his head as he poked at his tablet and read. “Primarily, alcohol. Then we’ve got a combination of drugs, mainly a blend of synthetic cannabinoids, but there is also LSD in his system so I’m guessing he just…,” the doctor half shrugged, eyeing Tony forlornly. _

_ Steve’s head throbbed and his vision started to blur. He looked at Tony, then at the doctor and later at Pepper. _

_ “Do not write it as suicide,” he heard Pepper order. _

_ The single word felt like a sucker punch to his plexus and Steve staggered forward. _

_ “Miss Potts -,” the doctor argued, “- you do realise your friend here needs help.” _

_ “I know. We’d take care of that but do not – In any case, I do not want to see the word ‘suicidal’ in his medical report.” _

_ “But Miss Potts, this way we could arrange a -,” _

_ “No. I’d file a lawsuit over your hospital -,” _

_ “That is not -,” _

_ But Steve never heard the rest as he stumbled out of the room. _

_ The whoosh of the cold air of the emergency suit forced him to inhale as he collapsed to the floor. _

_ He didn’t know how long he stayed there, knees clutched to his chest as he tried and tried to breathe. As he willed the tremble out of his body even as he shivered minutely. _

_ Until someone asked him if he was okay and he nodded mutedly, shrinking into himself and – _

_ He just – He didn’t know how long he was there, on the cold tiles of the emergency suit, breathing in antiseptics and iodine. Hearing cries and prayers and the jogging of padded staff shoes. _

_ Until someone slid down next to him and bony fingers touched his arm. _

_ Strawberry scented hair and an expensive perfume. The blood red sole of a stiletto, the golden trinkets of a very familiar bracelet bought from Steve’s own pay cheque and he sagged with a sob into Pepper Potts strong shoulder. _

The sound of the alarm jerks him off the memory. Blood rushes through his vessels with an audible whoosh that makes his vision whites out. He blinks them away, one arm methodically reaching out to shut down the clock he’d packed into his bag in desperate need to stick to his grounding routine.

Now, as he refuses the routine, Tony grounds him.

Tony, beneath him, whom he pulls into his arms and settles back with his familiar weight draped over his chest after three goddamn years.

Tony, who’s soft and pliant.

Who allows himself to be pulled and curls into Steve like they’re back to their yesteryear and the reality isn’t all thorns but only roses.

It’s like his existence, wipes away all the thorns by themselves and Steve is catapulted into somewhere else.

Somewhere safe, warm, and full of comfort that makes him so damn easy to lose himself within for an eternity- until life lasts him, and he’ll die happy.

Right there. With Tony in his arms.

Complete.

But.

But life is not just that. Reality isn’t only roses but thorns too. Tony isn’t just safe, warm and comforting, but can be a pain in the ass too.

A pain in the ass who would lash at Steve with such power he posses over words and it would hurt –

Or do something – have this  _ idea  _ of himself – that would hurt Steve like nothing else had done.

_ “Why would he do that?” _

The sheer magnitude of the power he has over Steve…

_ “How could ever think of – How he -,” _

_ “I just -,” _

_ “I know,” Pepper sighed. _

_ Steve had been incredibly deprived of touch and warmth for so long that when she patted his head and tucked him closer to her chest, he was more grateful than surprised. _

_ They asked so many questions that night, but the only person who could answer any of them was unconscious. _

_ They ended up curled in the room instead of the ground. Courtesy of Pepper’s capability to remain level-headed even in the most apocalyptic threats. _

_ “He’s hurt,” she told him in the dead of night. Like a whispered secret between them. _

_ Her gaze was pale on the wired lump at the centre of the room. Clouded but stubborn. _

_ Steve realised in that second that Pepper’s strength was beyond calculable. She used to remind him of Peggy once. But even he remembered Peggy’s broken voice in the radio when he dived to death last time. _

_ Pepper… _

_ Pepper was something else. _

_ Just like Natasha was something else too. _

_ All of them, stunningly brave and strong in their own way and Steve was beyond grateful for having them grace his listless life. _

_ Just like he was so grateful for Tony that he was too stubborn to let go. _

_ “I’ve seen him hurt before but this time -,” She paused, breathing in. Steve was about to shift his attention to Tony too when her furious eyes caught his. _

_ “Whatever you did, it -,” she shook her head, unable to complete her sentence. _

_ Steve blinked, seeming to curl into himself the more she glared so, she looked away. The same fire now, directed at Tony. _

_ “Fix it,” she ordered, and Steve complied. _

_ He went to visit Tony after he was discharged. But he didn’t fix it. _

_ He made everything  _ ** _worse._ **

Now, as he holds Tony in his arms, he doesn’t know if everything is worse anymore. Or if the worse was even worse to start with.

Maybe it was for the better.

Because Tony surely got some help after that incident. Not that Steve likes the fact that he went through everything he did in the first place at all, but he’s glad that at the end of that horrible tunnel, Tony had managed to find some light.

He remembers those days all too well too.

All the waiting. Just,  _ endless _ waiting.

He’d send a text asking about Tony to Pepper and waited two to three days for her to reply. She never did go four days without reply because once Steve broke into her office out of desperation and she tried to avoid the repeat of it after that.

Steve knew she loathed him. Hell, even he felt like an unwanted roach leeching on her for information.

But she provided nonetheless. Because the other option would be for Steve to be caught sneaking into the recovery centre and nobody wanted that.

_ _

_ “As far as he’s concerned, you don’t care and I’d like to keep it like that,” she’d said. _

Steve remembers the hurt coursing through him at that statement. There was nothing in the entire world he cared more than Tony. But Pepper had her reasons.

_ _

_ “It’s what’s best for now,” She’d explained. “The other day, his therapist brought your name up and he completely shut down. I cannot imagine what he’d do if I start talking to him about you and all your -,” _

_ “Yeah,” Steve cut her off. “I understand.” _

_ He wanted to add it’s fine. But that was a lie, so he pressed the ‘end-call’ button just before Pepper’s clipped ‘sorry’ ended. _

_ He didn’t want to hear it. _

_ _

Tony moves.

Steve stays still, letting him worm himself out of Steve’s arm to sit up. Then to stand up with a soft smile at Steve before he walks towards the bathroom.

Steve stays still, hearing the water run and Tony scuttling in there. And he thinks about what Tony had said earlier;

_ “Let’s be happy, Steve.” _

Steve feels his chest constrict – tight and taut as if it’s squeezing in on itself. No matter how many breaths he pulls in, none of them helps.

He feels his throat go dry. So dry that it feels like the linings are collapsing and sticking to each other, closing.

He jolts up.

The water is still running, the sound of the toilet being flushed gives something in him and he gasps a large breath in.

Tony’s scent is very much around and all over him. Tony’s warmth still tingles in every square inch of his exposed skin.

Evidence that this is not all just in his head.

He swings his legs to the edge of the bed and scrubs his face raw with his hands.

He so damned  _ tired. _

He’s tired of this constant living on the edge of unknowing. This unsureness whether everything is okay with Tony and himself or are they about the collapse in the very next second.

He’s tired of living in the past and dreaming of all the differences he could have made so they never fell apart to begin with.

Tired of looking at Tony and recalling all the things he’d like to change within himself and just, how much he hates himself for putting Tony through all –

All that.

He’s tired.

And he knows he’s selfish.

Because he cannot stay away from Tony. Drawn to him as he is, like a moth to a flame, Steve cannot think of a future without Tony in his life.

Even those five days they spend apart never go by without him thinking about Tony at least twice a day.

Because he misses him. Deeply.

And he loves him.  _ So. Much. _

And Tony is right. They’re bad for each other but they’re also so good  _ together. _

He feels the happiest when he’s with Tony. His heart feels empty and panicky when he thinks about losing Tony.

Yes, he dreams of holding Tony in his arms again. Of kissing him.

Of all those nights they’ve spent together before. Of the next mornings. Of stretches of weekdays, weekends and holidays together –

He wants them all back.

He wants Tony back.

Even if he’s afraid, he’s still selfish and he’s so fucking tired of revisiting the past.

He wants to move on, like Tony had said.

Tony offered a chance, so Steve, with his hammering but aching heart, looks up when the bathroom door opens and says, “Yes,” before his mind could tell him otherwise.

-

Few hours later, Wanda tells them her decision.

Steve watches her stumble through her gratitude towards Tony and feels his fingers twitch with the need to grab Tony’s hand.

Tony who’s neck flushes pink and his fingers clenched into fists which he then punches into his pockets.

Then Wanda says something utterly ridiculous and they all jump in fervour to tell her wrong.

-

Tony sits beside him during the flight back.

Steve with his heart in his throat and his mind a whirlwind of fear and loathing and some tinges of blunt excitement recalling their night together.

If he closes his eyes, he could still smell Tony’s shampoo. Feel tufts of his hair brushing above his lips and under his nose.

If he blinks open, Tony’s right by his side, hundreds of feet above the ground. But they’re not alone. They’re surrounded by their friends and somehow that makes Steve feel as exposed as a livewire –

He sees Tony’s widespread hand just then. And that slow smile.

Steve turns away, swallows the lumps of fear and anxieties clouding in his chest. Feels Tony bump his shoulder and turns wide eyed back to him.

Then Tony closes his hand around Steve’s fist resting on his thigh and it’s –

Steve inhales, forcing his heart to  _ calm down _ . Forcing his breath to not expel in a rush it really wants to right now.

He can feel every scab and callous of Tony’s hand; the evident of his workmanship. How horrible he is in taking care of himself but everybody else.

Instantly, he’s brought back to those days when he’d rub lotion onto Tony’s hands. When he’d knead his shoulders and press his thumbs along the grooves of Tony’s feet.

When Tony would ask him what he’s bribing him for and Steve would smile and say,  _ “Nothing.” _

He just wanted to take care of Tony. Make him feel better.

And even if it wasn’t every night, because they didn’t have that kind of luxury (to end up in the same bed every night or to even sleep on most), Steve made it a habit every time there was peace and Tony in the same room for more than a few minutes.

Now they’re back to being dry and rough and Steve itches to pick out the moisturiser tub he’d started carrying on principle with him since he began dating Tony from his backpack and starts massaging Tony’s hands.

But Tony’s unaware of that thought. Asleep as he is in his seat with his back straight and head rested in perfect alignment which Steve stares at for a moment longer before he too, closes his eyes – with the ghost of Tony’s ticklish curls under his nose and his warmth all around Steve’s body – and he as well, falls asleep.

-

Steve was still a little dazed from everything when they touched down. Mid-way through a conference call with Fury and Carol Danvers, he realises he hasn’t said goodbye to Tony then he thinks, maybe Tony wouldn’t mind, then he remembers last night and their new goal and he couldn’t sit still.

“You have elsewhere to be, Captain?” All the eyes are on him.

“I,” He looks from Fury to a stranger to Rhodey and the look on Rhodey’s face is what makes him say, “Yeah. I, yeah. I do.” Because he knows where he is right now is not where he _ wants _ to be.

Turns out, Tony was waiting for him.

He doesn’t say it explicitly, but he is still lounging, wasting time in the compound when Steve walks in when usually, he would have left. Steve could read in between those lines.

For a brief moment, he’s taken back to their olden days again. When this was their normal. Then, Steve realises that if this is happening, then isn’t this now, a normal too? And that makes a sappy smile work along his lips.

“Is everything okay?” Natasha intercepts before he could reach Tony.

“What?” He blinks, “Oh, yeah. I er just -,”

But it’s too late. She already has that smirk on her face as she steps away. “Boys! Training time.” She calls, still smirking. Steve sees Bucky and Sam grudgingly comply. Wanda and Bruce are up to something in the kitchen, too busy to notice.

“He’s all yours now. You’re welcome,” Natasha winks at him.

Steve’s probably too pink in the cheeks when he finds Tony because Tony looks at him all concerned. “You alright?”

“Y-yeah,” Steve coughs into his fist.

“What did Fury want?”

“I don’t know.”

Tony quirks an eyebrow at him;  _ Really? _

“Distracted.” Steve admits, heating up all over again. He rubs the back of his neck and looks away.

Tony clears his throat. “Got kicked out?”

Steve looks up. Tony’s smirking at him, but his eyes are soft like Steve remembers them from five years back.

“I walked out. Wanted to see you.” He tells him truthfully.

Now it’s Tony’s turn to blush.

-

A few days pass by.

Steve trains, does Avenger business with James Rhodes, sometimes Nat, he watches Sam and Bucky play video games, offers to help Bruce and Wanda tackle their Halloween plan but gets turned down because, “You look exhausted, go get some rest.”

But how does Steve explain to them that he looks exhausted because he hasn’t slept for four nights straight because his thoughts are screaming at night, whenever he’s alone really but especially at night so he’s trying to not be alone in the day, trying to exhaust himself out physically which so far has been impossible, hence the offering help so he could take his mind off of that incessant screaming but nothing helps and he is so, so –

Exhausted.

“Hey,” Natasha’s voice intercepts his thoughts.

“Hey,” he calls back, trying for a smile that feels so stiff on his face so he stretches his mouth wider.

Natasha isn’t fooled. Steve heaves out a sigh and turns back to stare at the lake stretched out beyond their compound. Sketchbook propped on his raised leg while the other he leaves to dangle at the edge of his window’s ledge.

“Burnout?” She asks, after standing quiet for some time.

Mentally, Steve’s accessing the word, alphabet by alphabet and he’s trying it on his own tongue, then pulling out a folder; A, B; there you go. A ‘B’ word. And now onto its meaning –

“Steve?”

“Uh?” Steve jolts, turning towards her. Their eyes meet and Steve wonders if she realises how green her eyes can be sometime. Sometimes, they’re the awful shade of it; like during one of their stealth missions, and it was too dark in the dungeon and Steve never really realised until he’s recalling it now.

Today, it’s pretty.

Natasha leans in, not a single word that escapes her mouth which she seems to be forcefully keeping shut, and suddenly, Steve’s being pulled into a plush set of bossoms that is so comforting his eyes immediately burn.

“Shh,” Natasha says, stroking his hair ever so gently and Steve doesn’t know why she’s shushing him but he swallows all the sounds anyway. He wants to wipe away the wetness down his cheeks but he couldn’t bring his hands up. They're leads, tied to his body; heavy. And dragging.

He’s sagging under their weight and he’s so tired from keeping his spine straight, pretending he could carry them when he really,  _ really, _ couldn’t.

In retrospect, Steve doesn’t know how long he stayed like that, but he does mourn when Natasha starts to pull away. But he has no right to ask her to stay for longer. He doesn’t deserve it, so he lets her go.

But she stays.

“C’mon,” she says. “I’ve been looking for someone to watch this awful movie I came across with.”

-

A time comes when Natasha has to go. She pats him and tells him, “If you want to talk about it, you know where to look.”

Frankly, Steve doesn’t quite know. He knows what she meant, but –

He doesn’t know.

But it doesn’t stop her from talking about it to someone else.

Because Bucky finds him while he was trying to light a cigarette.

“What’re you doing?”

The fact that it’s the same Bucky who had caught him trying to smoke when he was 17 was the reason why he freezes like a deer in the headlights.

“Steve?”

It takes a moment for him to understand that this is a different century and Steve is no longer what he used to be so he squares up his shoulders and says, “I don’t have asthma anymore.”

_ You can’t stop me _ , is a petulant follow up that stays at the back of his tongue.

“Sure, because that’s what’s been keeping you from this.” Bucky scoffs.

To prove him wrong, Steve lights up the cigarette and pulls in a long drag. The heat of Bucky’s glare feels like a sweet pain in that instant. That and the familiar burn down his airway.

Steve puffs out the smoke.

“This isn’t your first time is it,” Bucky sighs, scrubbing his face as he steps forth, taking the spot next to Steve on the balcony.

“Give me that,” he grumps, pulling the stick from Steve’s hand to have a go at it himself and he returns it before Steve could emote to his action.

Letting it go, Steve takes another pull, staring at the same lake that disappears at the horizon from his room but doesn’t from here.

They share the cigarette until there is nothing left to it, but a burnt butt which Bucky pinches the edge with his metal fingers and flicks it over the balcony. Then he asks, with his ‘no-shit’ tone;

“What’s going on?”

But Steve tries anyway, “Nothing.”

“Stevie.” Bucky growls, calling for his attention and when Steve turns to look at him, the final straw breaks.

“Did you know Tony has the arc-reactor in his chest again?” He asks in a rush.

Bucky’s frown tells it all, but the shake to his head tells differently.

“Don’t lie,” Steve groans, scrubbing his face raw. Something seems to bleed off of his shoulder and he rolls it back before hunching forth again; elbows propped in the glass border that keeps them from falling off of the balcony edge.

Bucky tugs at his elbow so Steve’s turned towards him, “I knew, he hid something and I thought it was the reactor thing but I didn’t know that thing was in his fucking chest, Steve. What’s this all about?” He tips Steve’s chin up when Steve refuses to meet his gaze.

“What happened?”

A hollow huff of laughter leaves Steve’s chest, “I almost killed Tony, is what happened.”

Now that the truth is out, he feels oddly light-headed. Giddy in a sense; owning up to his atrocious crime.

“They had to stick that thing back in his chest because I drove my shield too hard into his chest,” he’s laughing. He doesn’t know why in hell is he laughing, “You know when I – when I wanted to disable his reactor – God, buck.” He palms his face, sagging under Bucky’s hold which he isn’t aware Bucky is holding him until his knees buckle and Bucky goes down with him.

Back against the cool glass and Bucky by his side, Steve stares at the floor and whispers; “I only wanted to disable his suit, Buck. I only -,”

-

“I don’t understand,” Bucky says after the silence has been lulling them for quite some time. “We fought. We got injured. You broke your ribs, I remember,” he tells when Steve shakes his head no.

“He wrenched my arm out because I tried to pull his reactor out. He was gonna kill me, so you tried to stop him. He refused to stop, ” Bucky goes on, recalling the fight that happened half a decade ago.

“So, you fought him. He fought back. He broke your face and he was coming for me again, so you hit back until you couldn’t but he still didn’t stop. So, you disabled his suit.” He nods.

Steve frowns at him because he isn’t getting what Bucky is trying to say.

“I’m saying it’s a nasty fight. Shit went down because we were all trying to stay alive and safe lives and we all broke something.” Bucky lets out a heavy sigh. “I don’t understand which part of this is you blaming yourself for almost killing him. Did he say that?”

“No!” Steve denies immediately. “He never…,” He shakes his head.

“Then why?”

“I don’t know,” Steve frowns darkly at his bare feet. He flexes his toes then releases them. “What if it happens again?”

Bucky snorts, snapping Steve’s attention to him. “What? You’re friends with another brainwashed assassin? He got someone else he’s close with murdered? Huh?”

“Alright, fine,” he says when Steve doesn’t speak. “Tell me the probability of the exact or similar situation repeating itself. On what other occasion are you both going to lose your heads and beat the shit out of each other. Or is that the kind of relationship you’re in; beating each other every time you fight?”

Steve’s gaze snaps up, wild. Mouth open to protest but Bucky never gives.

“Cause, I know you’re not that type of guy, Stevie. I know you get mad. Real mad. But I also know it's never been you who gives out the first punch. There’s a reason why you’re so stuck to that shield and refused to pick up the gun. Hey,” Bucky nudges him with his elbow. “Is he scared of you?”

Steve shakes his head, “No.” Then he takes a deep inhale and adds, “He wants to give us another chance,” stealing a glance at Bucky.

“Hmm. What did you say?”

Steve stops nibbling the hangnail on his left thumb to scrub his face. “I love him,” he explains.

“Like we don’t know.”

Bucky’s flat response makes Steve laugh-sigh.

“I take it, you agreed?”

Steve nods.

“Do you not want to?”

He shakes his head. “I want to, I just…,”

“Scared you’ll hurt him again?”

“Yeah,” Steve exhales.

Bucky hums thoughtfully. Then he surprises Steve by confessing, “You know, I used to be scared of hurting Tasha.” He’s looking at his metal arm, flexing and relaxing the joints of those fingers with quiet whirs. Steve follows his gaze and understands.

“What changed?” He asks.

“She said she won’t let me.”

Steve waits for more, but Bucky doesn’t continue. “And?” He prompts him.

Bucky shrugs, “And I trust her.” He says.

_ “What if I hurt you again?” _

_ “I hurt you back.” _

_ _

Tony’s voice from the other night echoes like a ghost in his ear.

“He told me something similar,” he confides with his best friend.

Bucky nods, “Well there you go. Now you just gotta trust him.”

Steve nods. Still a little uneasy but feeling a lot better. As if the boulders on his shoulders have crumbled to dusts and disappeared.

With that relief, he asks Bucky, “How can you tell I’m what type? Didn’t even know I smoke until now,” he teases with a lopsided smile.

Scoffing, Bucky throws an arm over his shoulder and pulls him into a half hug, driving his knuckles into Steve’s arm. “Yeah, but I knew you’d try. Saw you sneaking one in when you were still scrawny, remember?”

“You remember that?” Steve laughs. A first real laughter in the last few days.

“Yeah, yeah. ‘Course I do.” Bucky smirks, letting him go to slump against the glass. Both of them staring at the empty hallway beyond the sliding door that leads into the balcony.

“When was the first time?”

The memory burns with a different kind of ache as Steve recalls. “After -,” he pauses to clear his throat, “You know…,”

He feels Bucky’s stare at the side of his head and he gives him a glance, rubbing the back of his head.

“After the fall?” Bucky asks, uncharacteristically soft.

“What? No.” Steve flushes. “No, no. It’s after, um, Erskine died.”

“Jesus Christ.” Bucky mutters, shaking his head. “Erskine died, my foot. You took your first drag as soon as you knew you could, didn’t you!?”

Steve ducks his head, ashamed.

“Punk ass, curious bastard.” Bucky curses, letting his head fall with a dull thud against the glass. “I knew it.”

Feeling mildly affronted, despite the shame, Steve protests weakly. “I don’t do it all the time.”

“Uh, huh. You save it for when you get your heart broken; occasional. Got it.”

“Shut up.”

“I bet you tried to drink after I fell.”

Steve looks away.

“You dramatic ass punk.”

-

The day after Halloween, Steve gets a text from Tony;

_ Picking you up in 10. Dress warm. _

Steve thinks about asking what it’s about but decides to not. Instead, he pulls on the blue sweater that Nat bought him because it reminded her of Steve and it brings the green flecks in his eyes out. Then a pair of dark jeans, his ankle boots and grabs an Autumn coat even if he won’t need it because Tony may.

Tony doesn’t step out of the car; a brand-new sleek Audi in black that is so quiet it barely hums. The passenger side door opens on its own and Tony waits until Steve has settled in his seat, seatbelt on before he greets, “Hi.”

“Hi.” Steve breathes, looking straight ahead with a nod. He still doesn’t know how to behave around Tony.

Does he touch? Can he? Is he allowed to ask how Tony has been doing?

Does he joke? Does he flirt? Will that be too forward? Is he even capable of flirting?

He doesn’t know.

Tony and himself have always walked on a different plane. Not the same as many other couples; they have their ups and lows in a different magnitude given the kind of people they are and the responsibilities they carry.

Which makes Steve extremely unsure and cautious about how to carry onwards from their agreement.

Judging by the way Tony pulls away from the driveway without another word, Steve is not the only one.

-

It’s an extremely short drive. Tony brings them to that lake which Steve spends hours gazing at from his room.

He parks right at the edge of the small hill that leads into the lake and switches off the engine. Steve stares at the still water that is very much ingrained behind his eyes before he turns to Tony for explanation.

Tony presses a button that makes their doors snap open and he shrugs, “I thought you should see it closer,” as he steps out the car.

Steve feels a soft smile tug on the corner of his lips as he ducks his head and gives in. Looking up, he watches as Tony makes his way down the hill, heels digging in to keep him from tumbling down. He’s wearing a maroon sweater, paired with a khaki pants. But his shoes are siblings with his luxury dress shoes and it makes Steve worry a little about him potentially falling into the lake.

Decisively, Steve steps out. Keeping his eyes on Tony, he pulls out the coat he brought along as well. It’s windy, the sky is grey looking a little cloudy, and he’s right, Tony didn’t bring another layer with him.

He closes the door and follows down the path Tony has carved for him.

They don’t go too far down, stopping instead halfway between the hill-top and the edge of the lake. Tony sniffles when Steve reaches his side. Hands in pants' pocket and he seems to draw himself smaller.

Wordlessly, Steve holds out the coat for him.

“Thanks,” Tony accepts, shrugging into it with a shudder.

Just for good measure, Steve steps closer, shielding Tony from the wind that primarily blows from his left.

Tony looks up at him with a knowing smirk which Steve meets with a nervous smile of his own.

He must have looked too spooked for Tony bumps his shoulder and says, “Cheer up. You look like I forced you into this date.”

Steve isn’t that naïve. He suspected that’s what this is. Even if Tony didn’t explicitly say so. But hearing it out loud sure does tickle something bashful within him. Which makes him duck his head to hide his too wide grin and too pink cheeks.

“I did mention this is a date, didn’t I?” Tony asks, nudging him again gently with his elbow. He’s tilting his head sideways and downwards trying to catch Steve’s gaze which only makes Steve grin wider and duck lower. “Did I force you?”

“No.” Steve chuckles, scratching his chin, fingers skimming over his mouth, hiding the grin. Tony laughs and sniffles, giving up in his effort.

Eventually Steve looks up, face still burning but his grin now considerably dimmed. But when Tony looks at him, he breaks all over again.

“What?” He laughs. Because there is absolutely no reason for Tony to tease him like that.

“Nothing,” Tony shrugs, smiling indulgently, “Just looking at you.”

Steve recollects himself with remarkable strength. Sniffs and determinedly looks straight ahead at the still water of the lake, willing himself to calm down. Even if his ears and cheeks are burning and his nape is itchy and Tony is still shamelessly staring at him.

But Steve doesn’t have the heart to stop him. _Doesn’t want_ _him to stop,_ really, if he’s being honest.

So, when Tony does turn away, Steve glances at him curiously. He wishes he has that same courage Tony has to shamelessly ogle. Because, given the liberty, Steve could easily spend hours just looking at Tony; creating and recreating, framing and reframing him.

But he doesn’t. Because he’s too much of a coward, so he turns away as soon as Tony looks his way.

But Tony is smart. On top of that, he knows Steve well. Too well sometimes that he surprises even Steve. Like when he says, “I don’t mind if you look, you know. In case you forgot, I thrive from attention.” He smirks.

Steve meets his eyes and confidently negates him, “On the contrary really.” Because everyone who really knows Tony knows how much the spotlight discomforts him.

Tony snorts. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s. That’s true.” He shakes his head, looking away toward the lake and he adds, “But if it’s a desired attention then…,” he trails off.

_ Oh, _ Steve thinks.  _ Oh well… _

And this time, he doesn’t look away.

-

Sometime later, the wind gets harsher, clouds greyer and Tony, colder. Steve suggests that they leave; maybe get into the car, but Tony stubbornly refuses. “It’s nice,” he insists, shuffling side to side on his feet.

But the very instant Steve shivers, Tony changes his mind and curses at the weather. He marches up the hill with the kind of fervour that should be intimidating. But given the kind of shoes he’s wearing; his gait is a little funny and Steve couldn’t help but bite back the laughter that keeps bubbling up his chest every time he chances a look ahead him.

It's not surprising when Tony slips, but it makes Steve panic nonetheless. Even if he manages to catch the man before he falls.

“You should have worn a better pair of shoes,” Steve can’t help but comment.

Tony scoffs, consciously dusting off the coat despite no actual damage done to the good. “You think I didn’t regret the moment I pulled up here?”

“Didn’t you know where we were going?” Steve laughs. “You planned this.”

“Shush.” Tony presses an index to Steve’s lips.

For a moment, both of them seem clueless as to what to do. Then, Tony drops his hand and Steve clears his throat and that little bickering suddenly feels like it was ages ago instead of just a minute.

They get in the car without another word. Tony breaks the silence once Steve closes his side of the door.

“I’ve got coffee. You want some?”

“Sure,” Steve shrugs, rubbing his hands together. Tony still got the coat on him which Steve approves silently. He most likely forgot he’s even wearing it, but the why and how don’t matter as long as he’s warm.

He watches as Tony pulls out a thermos from and pours out some into its lid. “Here,” he offers to Steve.

“Thanks,” Steve wishes, accepting the warmth with a gratified sigh.

“I didn’t let Dum-E add anything suspicious,” Tony takes a sip, smacking his lip after that with a twisted face. “Or anything unconventional,” he drifts off suspiciously, squinting at the thermos.

“Are you sure?” Steve prompts, recalling the bots with something akin fond ache.

“No,” Tony decides, snatching away Steve’s supply. He opens the door on his side and tips off the entire content. Both lid and the thermos itself.

“Did he sneak something past you again?” Steve asks amusedly.

“MIT’s been asking for him anyway,” Tony grumbles sourly.

Steve laughs because it’s just so familiar. So similar to what they would talk about when they were... when, before. And he couldn’t help the relief that comes with that familiarity.

Usually Tony would have said something along the line of; “You pamper him too much.” To Steve because Steve has a soft spot for the bots. Dum-E in particular.

But this time, he sighs and says, “He misses you by the way.”

“I miss him too,” Steve inhales sharply, the mirth fading out of his eyes. “I miss the shop.”

“Yeah,” Tony agrees. Which prompts Steve to look questioningly at Tony, because how could Tony miss his own shop when he’s there so often.

But Tony chances him a glance, keeps his eyes resolutely fixed straight ahead where the lake lies and says, “I miss you in it.”

Steve pulls another sharp inhale which this time hitches and he barely avoids spluttering. Instead, he coughs lightly into his fist, turns away then turns back to Tony and boldly admits; “Me too.”

Maybe it’s Tony’s confession. Maybe it’s the way he looks at Steve when Steve admits the same; cautiously hopeful. As if he’s afraid to even hope and that just doesn’t sit right with Steve.

No, he decides. He is not going to allow Tony to have any doubt about them.

And with that thought, he takes the free hand laying atop of Tony’s knee into his and intertwines their fingers together.

In his mind, he’s making a point; you’re not alone, we’re together in this, and I’m going to be with you the whole way through.

He doesn’t look away, keeping his eyes and focus fixed on Tony; watches as he takes a deep breath and breathes out a frail smile.

As faint as that smile is, it gives Steve the courage to flip their hand so he could kiss the back of Tony’s hand.

It seems to work because Tony’s back to his confident self when he asks, “Wanna come over to visit them for our third date?”

“What about the second?” Steve cocks his head, smiling at the squeeze Tony gives to his hand.

Tony’s eyes glint mischievously as he says, “Shouldn’t you tell me what happens?”

Steve smiles, getting the message. “Okay,” he says. Subconsciously bringing Tony’s hand up for another kiss which he blushes from when he realises. “I, er, I’ll text you?”

“Works for me,” Tony shrugs easily, a carefree grin etched across his face and he tugs on their intertwined hands to press it over the back of Steve’s hand.

At the end of it, Steve returns to his room in that same blue sweater, dark jeans, an additional big stupid grin and an autumn coat short. He feels very accomplished.

-

They start texting.

It begins with Steve sending details about their second date to Tony and Tony replying and Steve replying and well, so on.

They used to text before too. But since then they lived together and even after Steve moved, they saw each other so often that they only stuck with necessary texting.

But this time it is different in the way that Steve finds himself carrying his phone like another limb, and he keeps checking it so often, his phone keeps vibrating with new texts too often that all of his friends start giving him looks.

Especially since Steve starts grinning to himself like a loon.

“Tony?” Sam asks, pausing in his reading to pick up his tea.

Steve quickly rearranges his face and clears his throat, “Yeah.”

A single glance at Sam shows him the man sipping on his tea with raised eyebrows and a meaningful look that Steve rolls his eyes, pocketing his phone. “Shut up,” he grinds out, picking his own book up.

He’s only one page in and he forgot what he was even reading. Scolding himself lightly, he flips back to the first page again, starting over.

But Sam seems to think this is his chance to start interrogating; “How’s it going in paradise?” He grins. “Or is it still purgatory.”

Steve looks up his book to give him an exasperated look. But the smile that has been permanently etched to his face since his first date with Tony betrays him.

“James told me y’all went on a date?”

Steve makes a face, “Who told Bucky that?” Because he certainly didn’t.

Sam perks up, “So, it’s true then?”

This time, Steve lets out a groan. “He didn’t tell you, did he?”

“Of course, he didn’t,” Sam snorts, “have you seen the guy? He sucks at social cues and sensitivity.” He rolls his eyes, clearly making his disgruntlement at Bucky clear.

But all Steve sees and hears is fondness. He shakes his head at the thought of his two ever-clashing best friends.

“So?” Sam prompts. “How was the date?” He does a little wiggle with his eyebrows that makes Steve snorts.

“It was good,” Steve says, recalling the day crystal-clear. Then he sighs, pulling himself back to now, “We decided to try again,” he smiles consciously at Sam. A little anxious about what his best friend says about his decision.

But Sam simply leans an extra inch to give a pat and an assuring nod, “You’ll work it out,” he states with confidence, “You and him always do.”

His confidence is contagious. Steve smiles back, reassured and says, “Thanks.”

Then, because assholes are always friends with assholes, he squints at Sam and says, “How’s it going with that brunette from Xavier’s?”

Sam’s grin drops and he pointedly picks up his book again, strategically hiding his face behind it.

Now it’s Steve’s turn to poke his nose, jubilant he is at the turn of the event that he even continues pestering after sending a quick reply to Tony’s latest text;

“C’mon. I saw you both flirting. You exchanged numbers didn’t you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sam insists, squirming in his seat.

“Tell me and I won’t tell Buck.” Steve promises.

Sam seems to consider this because he lowers his book and squints at Steve distrustfully.

“I swear,” Steve pinches his throat.

“Not a single word.”

“None at all.”

“I’ll personally program redwing to annoy you for the rest of your life.”

“Understood.”

“Okay,” Sam sits up, abandoning his book.

-

Their second date almost doesn’t happen.

“B’lyad!” Natasha swears, shoving Steve out of the way as she fires bullets after bullets.

“Cap, status?” Jim’s clipped tone echoes in his ear. Along with the thrill rush of his own blood that makes his eardrums ring and his head spin.

It feels like he’s inside a huge barrel, every sound echoing and he shakes his head, thumps his temporal a couple times with the heel of his palm trying to clear it up.

“He needs medical. Two bullets into his right pectoral. One through and through,” Natasha reports through their com, hands still firing bullets every time someone enters her sight.

She ducks behind the container the first chance she gets, rolling into position next to Steve. “Can you breathe?” She asks, refilling her Glock without looking. Her green eyes burn in the darkness, fixed on Steve. “Steve?”

“Yeah,” Steve gasps out, feeling his chest sink in with each inhale, a piercing pain and squeezing pressure that grows. But he nods anyway.

Natasha cups her earpiece and relays; “One still in. Collapsed lung and concussion.”

“Extraction in five,” Jim replies, sounding understandably pissed. Steve is too.

“I can do this.” He tries to sit up from his slouched position. But his hand slips and Natasha catches him under his arm.

“You can shut your mouth and let us finish this.” She grunts supporting most of his weight, helping him to lie down. “Sam and I got this.”

Steve wants to say no, wants to say that he could still help. But he’s too busy trying to inhale without gasping like a fish out of water. His vision starts blurring out; little stars and sparkles that strangely make him want to smile. His head is heavy, bearing down upon him, as if it’s a balloon pumped up to extreme.

“Hey,” Natasha’s hand pats his cheek. “Stay awake.”

But Steve is awake. He just wants to really… He only really, really, wants to sleep.

Above him, Natasha’s like a fiery flame, her hair dancing like a brilliant red orb around her. Her green eyes a pretty –

_ Hey! _ Steve thinks, batting off Natasha’s hand. Or tries to because she still manages to yank the folded Kevlar aside, splits it open.

She’s cursing up a stream under her breath but Steve’s too congested to perceive anything. It all happens in a slow motion; she lifts something an inch up from his left chest and her fist goes down, a sharp pain then as if an overly pumped balloon had been punctured, everything  _ releases. _

Steve gasps, the dull ache of his collapsed right rib neglectable against everything else now that he  _ can _ breathe.

“I swore I won’t do that anymore after Clint.” Natasha exhales, her gaze faraway as he collapses against the container, one hand still over Steve’s torso, shaking.

Overhead, a chopper circulates.

Steve’s ears are still ringing so he tugs out the earpiece when the static noise starts, entrusting Natasha to get them all home. Safe.

Few thousand feet up in the air and Natasha’s hand has finally stopped shaking but remains on his chest. Steve rasps, “I’m supposed to meet Tony tonight.”

-

Jim rats him out to Tony.

He’s already there by the time they haul Steve into med bay.

His excuse is as flimsy as his sleep shirt when they wheel Steve out of the operation theatre. Everything’s still woozy, they’ve drugged him up well but it’s flushing out quick and Steve can hear when Tony say;

“Cho needed the ride.”

“Right,” Jim deadpans before shaking his head and letting out a huge sigh. “You staying?” he asks as he turns to leave. Pauses, body half-turned because Tony doesn’t answer him. He isn’t even looking at him. His whole attention is on Steve, and he looks terrifyingly close to tears.

“I’m fine,” Steve chokes out, immediately spluttering into a coughing fit. Tony catches the hand he’s trying to reach out and holds it close to his chest.

“Bullshit.” He scoffs. Wet. Looking upwards to the ceiling, and he blinks rapidly. His grip around Steve’s hand is tight and Jim Rhodes voice is conclusive when he says;

“I’ll tell Pepper you’re staying. Avengers’ business,” and Steve tries to smile but ends up grimacing at the hand that lands on Tony’s shoulder for a squeeze.

He leaves them.

“There are a number of things I want to demand from you. In my head,” Tony says, looking more composed than he did a minute ago.

They’re in a room now, don’t know when that happened. Tony’s shoulders are more relaxed as he cradles Steve’s hand in both of his, leaning forth in his chair; elbows propped on the edge of Steve’s medical bed.

“What are they?” Steve croaks then coughs. Still a little wet. He clears his throat and pulls a deep breath in.

He could feel his collapsed ribs knitting back to perfection. The holes in his lungs probably completely healed.

He could leave. He’s alright. But Helen insisted he stays the night.

_ “You had an operation to extract a bullet from your lungs’ tissue, Steven. Even for a superhuman it’s going to take two days to heal. _

Then she drained him, so he wouldn’t pull an AWOL. Saying something about fluids in lungs or other. Now he’s stuck with two tubes hanging out of the base of his right chest.

“I’m not going to say them aloud,” Tony snorts, propping his chin on top of their tangled hands. “They’re implausible.”

Steve smiles, “Tell me anyway.”

Tony rolls his eyes, but he complies. Even if he sighs and makes a huge show of belittling them.

“It’s the whole worried thing. It’s what an insane amount of anxiety and concern does to you.”

“Yeah?” Steve prompts, still smiling at him. Helpless, really.

Tony’s flitting eyes pause on him for a few seconds and whatever he sees, makes him sag. All his harsh lines gone with the wind and he tells Steve, “I hope I could say; don’t you dare do that to me again.”

Something lodges in Steve’s throat; a lump. He swallows, feeling the dryness like a lingering ache to the back of his throat.

“Tell you to quit it.  _ Make _ you quit. Lock you up where I can monitor you for 24/7 and install all the possible securities I could think of.” Tony carries on, gaze steadily fixed on Steve. “Or design a new suit. Reinforce that fucking Kevlar. Weave Vibranium through and through if I have to and then build a suit too. Anything so I don’t lose you. Keep you safe.”

The absolute ferocity in Tony’s eyes when he said that. The burning severity. If he could, he would do it.

“But I won’t,” he exhales, gaze dropping down. Then he looks up, eyes twinkling with mirth. “I know what I signed up for. Just that. It puts things into perspectives. Next time you yell at me for being reckless, I know where I am.” He smirks.

Steve lips twitch and he gives up, dodging Tony’s eyes as a grin splits wide across his face. Aching in its beauty.

He can’t deny, it feels nice to be on the other side of fierce protection and possessiveness. Would he like to be locked up, no. Neither is Tony that kind of man. But it certainly feels nice to know that he’s making Tony feel that way.

When he glances up, Tony’s looking at him with a soft smile. The smile that Steve hasn’t witnessed since the morning after he woke up next to Tony and he said his first ‘I love you’ to Steve.

The smile that makes Steve inhale sharply, breath hitching and the next instance, because his current state couldn’t afford it, he goes into another coughing fit. Dry.

“Water,” he reaches out.

Tony curses, letting go of Steve’s hand to stand up. He pours a glass of water and dunks a bendy straw in.

“Small sips,” he reminds, leaning close to prop Steve up a little with one hand between Steve’s shoulder blades while another guides the glass to his mouth.

For a ridiculously simple instruction, Steve thinks that it’s rather difficult to follow.

He almost inhales the water. Stops, breathes in through his nose and breathes out before he gulps. Little by little. His whole throat aches. He swallows the wince and takes another sip. Then another. And he leans away from the glass.

“Okay,” Tony breathes a small sigh, adjusting the pillow behind Steve’s head as he lets go. He places the glass down on the bedside table blindly. Keeping his attention otherwise occupied by Steve as he fusses about him.

He tugs on the blanket and tucks them in snuggly. He makes sure Steve’s feet are covered. “Socks?” Steve shakes his head. He then moves to checking the vital signs on the monitor. Fusses with Steve’s pulse-oximeter, then the wires and he’s about to check the drainage when Steve stops him; catching his wrist in motion.

“I’m sorry,” he says. Because it has been bothering him ever since the first bullet.

Tony looks clueless so he elaborates; “We’re supposed to go on our second date tonight.”

Understanding dawns upon Tony and he lets out a snort. Then a short giggle, which he tries to tamp down with a hand to his mouth but it spills out in a splutter of laughter and soon he’s wheezing and wiping tears from his eyes.

“God, you’re so -,” He shakes his head, leaving the sentence incomplete.

Steve bites his lower lip, worrying. Partly he’s glad that Tony’s not mad about it, but he can’t help but wonder how they’re to progress from here onwards.

He’s too caught in his thought and he jerks in surprise when Tony takes his hand. He’s back on his chair, one hand holding Steve and with another, he cautiously reaches up to comb Steve’s hair back.

Steve lets him. Breathing in deeply and he lets out a long sigh, sinking into the feel.

“How about a lunch date tomorrow?” He asks softly. Voice a comforting lull with the dull beeps in the background. “We order in and watch a movie or two?”

Steve can’t help but beam at him, even as he feels the heavy pull of sleep behind his lids with every stroke to his hair. “Are you staying?” he asks, bringing their clasped up to the centre of his chest. He’s about to conk out in three. He can feel it.

“Obviously,” he hears Tony scoff as he forces his eyes open one last time before he gives in. As if it shouldn’t even be asked in the first place. 

His chest may be injured, but there’s a strange flutter in there that doesn’t have anything to do with said injury. Steve clings onto that, and Tony’s hand as he finally gives in to exhaustion.


End file.
